Chapter 1
Now What Do We Do?
“Gee, Dad, why do I have to carry this heavy brick around in my stomach?” Saturn Jones asked once she had been wheeled into the medical area for a thorough checkup.
“That’s what your mother and I grew up with,” replied Jonesy, smiling.
“A brick in your stomach?” she asked, not understanding fully.
“No, what you are feeling is the gravity of Earth, nearly twice as strong as what we are used to on America One. Wait until Ryan has you running around the airfield we just landed on with that heavy brick,” her father added. His “brick” was mostly gone, his muscles already filling out to fight the gravitational pull, and he knew that it wouldn’t be long before he had to run again.
“Ignore your father, dear,” added her mother Maggie. “It is perfect gravity, something everything living on Earth has to deal with. Within a week, and giving your body time to accept the extra pull, you just wait until we return to space and weightlessness again. Just going weightless after Earth’s strong gravity is a pure pleasure.”
“Does my father feel this gravity in his metal legs?” asked Mars Noble to Jonesy as his own father, VIN, walked into the medical area unattended.
“No, my boy,” said VIN, interrupting Jonesy and his answer. He never knew what would come out of the mouth of his best friend, Colonel Jones, United States Air Force, so he decided to answer the question before Jonesy told his son more about space sharks, or sea sharks, or gravity sharks coming to get him. “My legs don’t feel the difference, but the top half of my body just wants to sink down and lay on the floor. As soon as you are checked over, son, I’ll get you to the pool. It is so much bigger and better than the tub in America One. Mars, Saturn, just to warn you, it smells of chemicals, so just be prepared for sharp aromas that could hurt your nose.”
“You swim in polluted water here on Earth?” asked Saturn Jones, about to get something rammed down her throat to check her tonsils.
“Something like that,” added Maggie, smiling at the word pollution. “Even the sea and the oceans are full of salt and pollution.”
“And fish,” added Jonesy. “I think our fishing chariot, the Gulfstream, will be ready and here tomorrow. Fish, here we come!” shouted Jones, scaring the younger members and some of the nurses with his noisy outburst.
“I don’t think so,” added Ryan, smiling and entering the room while wheeling in his wife Kathy. Medics pushed his two daughters, Lunar and Pluto Katherine, behind them in wheelchairs as well.
All newcomers went through the same checks. Ryan, Jonesy, Maggie and VIN had arrived earlier for a week on a previous flight down from space and didn’t need wheelchairs. They were already strong enough to walk the distance from hangar to medical center, and to the pool.
“I think, full Colonel Jones, now that we have arrived back on Earth and I assume you still part of the military, that we need a little more time debriefing before you head off on your vacation. I’m sure in a week or so we will all be glad to see your departure to bluer pastures. I might even come with you, or wait. At worst I could fly in formation beside the Jones family.”
“Sounds good to me, Ryan. Since you blew up your bank manager’s building, and now we have all our accounts back open, and thank you for the two percent interest rate for the last ten years, I can afford to fill my tanks,” Colonel Jones replied.
“We might need air or space fighter protection on our unarmed civilian aircraft flights,” suggested VIN. “You never know what our trusty American government might want to do to us once we are airborne and over their territory.”
“Never thought of that,” replied Jonesy, looking serious. “I mean, I know what it is like to be dishonorably discharged from the military, and that we were nearly blown out of the sky several takeoffs ago, but being an enemy of our own country for doing absolutely nothing! Maybe it is time to get out of the States for a while?”
“I’m thinking the same,” added Ryan, watching the medics attend to Kathy and his daughters.
Dr. Nancy, Captain Pete, Igor, Boris, Vitaliy and Max Burgos and families were still up in space. The men were flying the other craft around in various formations to show strength, and to protect the crew on the ground.
“Flight crew, my old office, ten minutes,” said Ryan, walking out. It was time to get things done. Now, what do we do? he thought to himself, beginning to understand the enormity of keeping all his crew safe.
“We have Bob Mathews and his crew arriving tomorrow,” began Ryan with his pilots in attendance half an hour later. There was Jonesy, Maggie, Allen, Jamie Saunders and VIN in attendance. Ryan was already enjoying the fresh coffee.
The stuff produced by Mr. Rose was good, but nothing was as good as the real beans. “We need to fill the Dead Chicken with its first load and get her out of here to the Sahara. She will need to refuel in Germany and then head south. The engineers have promised me that the storage hangar and basic living requirements in the Sahara at our new base will be ready within five days, so we are going to move really fast. Hence we’ll be putting off your vacation, Mr. Jones, until we have at least two flights into Africa and back.”
“What about refueling in Germany?” Jonesy asked.
“We have the friendly German Air Force offering us all the fuel and services we need,” Ryan replied. “I only want U.S. assistance this side of the Atlantic. Because there are no more space communications, satellites or GPS systems up in space apart for our own ships, I assume that anybody interested in our movements can follow us up to a certain distance, but not as accurately as they used to a couple of decades ago. I’m sure Bob Mathews will fill us in when he arrives tomorrow.”
“I bet the governments around the world are struggling with surveillance outside their borders,” added Maggie.
“The NSA and CIA must be twiddling their thumbs doing nothing,” said VIN, smiling. “Maybe the world has gone back to James Bond and the old-fashioned spies.”
“Could be,” responded Ryan. “I think once we fly out into the Atlantic and over the horizon at low altitude, we might just disappear from all viewing screens.”
“So how do the countries shoot down ships and aircraft, if they don’t have any space surveillance?” Allen Saunders asked, bringing up a good point.
“Well,” Ryan replied, thinking for a few seconds. “Good point, General, but I think firstly, the Iron Dome systems can lock onto incoming missiles through the altitude of the missile. Other than missiles, I would assume search and destroy aircraft on constant patrol could be the next alternative.”
“It is difficult for any jet engine to fly long distance at low altitude,” added Jonesy. “Low altitude kills distance. I reckon that this whole new world order works their defenses on high altitude aircraft reconnaissance.”
“Maybe those little space drones have surveillance systems?” suggested Maggie.
“A good chance,” said Allen.
“Maybe all the countries have atmospheric drones,” interrupted VIN. “You know, like the ones I used to work with when I was a Marine in Iraq in a past lifetime. We worked with the MQ-1 Predator then, and I’m sure they have more modern unmanned aircraft with hours of extra fuel range, and much better cameras.”
“It sounds logical,” added Ryan. “Our friend in Canada told me that only the smaller aircraft can fly continental in safety. I would assume long-range small drones with large fuel tanks could be a way of finding aircraft over the vast oceans.”
“Well, they had a solar-powered aircraft a decade ago before we left,” said Jonesy.
“Yes, I saw one once crossing the USA,” included Allen Saunders. “It landed at Nellis. Nearly the wingspan of an old 747.”
“I’m sure wherever we go we will have dozens of hidden eyes watching us, and once we get to the open Sahara, they will just position their eyes within camera distance,” said VIN, Head of Security.
“Could we see these drones on radar?” Ryan asked his former Air Force personnel.
“Small jets and propeller driven aircraft show heat trails from their exhausts,” said Allen Saunders, former general in the USAF, and former base commander at Nellis Air Force Base. He knew his stuff, although now a decade old. “The Israelis had some of the best equipment to defend themselves; they did build the world’s Iron Dome systems. If these drones are bigger than a shoebox, we should be able to pick them up on radar, maybe up to 50 to 60 miles. Even so, we have nothing to shoot them down. The lasers from space struggle with any target smaller than a four-wheeled vehicle, even at the lowest altitudes. I think a visit to Israel with tons of cash would get us their latest surveillance and infrared systems.”
“Great idea,” replied Ryan. “I think a visit to that country on our first trip to North Africa would be fruitful. The problem I cannot find an answer to is, how can we all travel in different directions without somebody trying to kidnap us and then hold us hostage? I’m sure the government wants everything we have, especially our Matt shields, if they knew they existed, and would stop us from ever leaving again. Especially if they knew my whole flight crew was down here with me.”
“As your Head of Security, I advise that you must make sure none of these nurses or doctors are allowed to leave, or to see what goes into the Dead Chicken. Every new item on this base must be checked for bugs daily,” said VIN. “I know this room was swept by Sergeant Meyers before we entered, and it is clean, but any of those medical staff could be a mole trying to find out our next moves. Any conversation between us will be listened to by everything they have. I think that a kidnapping or capture of any of us here in this room, or even our families, could force us to comply with their demands. Remember the NSA listening in to its own citizens before we left, to their emails and telephone conversations in 2013, 2014? Now think what they have learned in a decade, and how they could have improved their equipment.”
“I got it!” said Jamie Saunders, usually the quiet one in meetings. “We all speak Matt!”
“Well done, Jamie!” laughed Maggie. “We are all fluent in Matt, every single one of us. Even my dearest husband can get by in Matt, even though he doesn’t like speaking it.”
“Only because it is hard to give altitude readings, log flight information, and bearings. Their language doesn’t have the sophistication of our flight chatter, apart from up, down and Hasta la Vista Baby,” replied Jonesy, straightforward for a change. The other pilots nodded, and nobody said anything for a few minutes.
“Well, I hereby give the order that all Earth languages are now banned between us, apart when flight commands or directions are needed to be conveyed in English. Then, with modern surveillance and aircraft tracking systems from the Israelis, and us speaking a 10,000 year old language, we should keep one step ahead of the pack,” conveyed Ryan with all attending nodding their heads. “We will only take off from this airfield when one of the two lasers aboard our ships is currently over the Pacific and about to fly overhead. I will always have the Pitts in the third shuttle. Mrs. Pitt can fly while Mr. Pitt can shoot. He is as deadly accurate as Mr. Noble here. Captain Pete can fly America One from the laser’s computer station while aiming the large laser, until VIN heads back up in two weeks’ time. Boris and Igor can fly one of the unmanned mining craft, and doing two days on and one day off in rotation will show strength up there. Max Burgos can fly Astermine Two, and only the two Matt craft are useless at this moment until Commander Joot, or you Jonesy, returns to give the others a break. So vacations are still out of the question until we are gone from the good old U.S. of A.”
“So we speak Matt when we leave here?” VIN asked. Ryan headed for the door, opened it and spoke to the guard outside. A few minutes later Lieutenant Walls entered.
“Lieutenant, we are going to speak a foreign language from now on, so don’t look at us as if we have lost it or something. You have the one man in solitary confinement in his apartment?” The lieutenant nodded. He hadn’t been told anything about this prisoner, or what he thought the shorty was. “That man is a walking, living fossil 10,000 years old, from Earth, and speaks a different language.”
Walls looked at his boss as if he had totally lost it. “An alien, an extraterrestrial 10,000 years old. Impossible!” was all Walls could say.
“You might think so, but he’s far more intelligent than any of us,” Ryan replied, watching the poor man come to grips with what he was being told. “Think, man! How did we get through the attacks on us in space? How do you think we have better weapons than the U.S. government?”
“Because you designed them, sir,” Walls replied.
“To an extent, but without this alien’s knowledge, we would all be particles floating around in space right now, apart from you of course, Lieutenant.”
Lieutenant Walls swallowed hard, still trying to grasp that this Nevada base now had more aliens than the other Nevada base just up the road, and these aliens were actually alive.
Nobody outside the newcomers had seen Commander Joot without a full spacesuit since he had arrived. The commander was in one of the bungalows with half a dozen security guards around its perimeter 24 hours a day. Only the America One crew went in to chat and to bring him food. Ryan had explained to Commander Joot, who had completely understood, that it was imperative that his existence needed to be kept secret from all others. Either that, or face the current world governments’ kidnapping, interrogating and eventually dissecting.
“Only you, Lieutenant, will be privy to this information. This man will be out of here on the first flight. I trust you to keep this info to yourself, or I will have no choice but to take you and your family with us. Understand?”
The man nodded, swallowing again, but stood resolutely. To the lieutenant, Ryan Richmond was always full of surprises.
Then Walls heard Ryan speak to his crew in a language he had never heard, if it even was a language, right in front of him, and they responded as fluently as if they were speaking English. Lieutenant Walls couldn’t believe his eyes, or his ears. Even Jonesy, a man he respected more than anybody, clicked away in weird noises as if he was actually having a conversation. Then Ryan returned to English.
“Lieutenant Walls, Mr. Noble, I want at least half of our security to go through every piece of equipment on the base daily, with every bug scanner we have. I want every cell phone, computer to the internet, and communications device found and destroyed. I don’t care how small it is, whether it walks, flies, or just hangs around. It could be a real bug for all I care. I don’t give a crap what you use, but I don’t want to see any bugs on base. This is the Nevada desert, for heaven’s sake. We don’t have bugs here, only rattlers and scorpions, and even those might have “Made in China” bugs on their heads, or up their butts, knowing the NSA and CIA. We will be out of here ASAP, and then your job is over, Lieutenant. You will be better off for life, and I doubt we will be back.”
The man nodded.
“My only son is now a top surgeon in Las Vegas,” Lieutenant Walls said slowly. “He is divorced, but has a ten year old boy, very clever, called Johnny. My wife died a couple of years ago. I’m an old man, been out of the military for two decades, and nearly 60, but my son asked me if there was ever a chance he could work with the famous Dr. Nancy Martin? And I’m around if you need extra security. We all would like to come with.”
Ryan nodded and replied kindly, “I think that a perfect outcome. We need your son, and oddly enough your grandson, due to so many girls being born in space, and I and Captain Pete would be honored to have you aboard. VIN, your approval as Head of Security will seal the deal?”
VIN respected the lieutenant, even though the man had confiscated his bottles of Budweiser on VIN’s first visit to the base thirteen years ago, and nodded. The lieutenant was certainly a man he could work with.
“You keep our secret, and you come with us, Lieutenant. We leave shortly, so get your son and grandson here. Once on base, they will not leave again. Use a secure line, one of our prepaid cell phones I ordered. Check it for bugs first. Invite them to come and visit you, say, in the town to the north. We cannot let them know until they are here. You have 48 hours.”
The man nodded and left.
Chapter 2
Aggression from Washington
The peace at the base in Nevada didn’t last long. It was 48 hours after the shuttle had landed when the radio woke up and two F-22s screamed overhead.
Then came the call from Air Force One. “Alpha Foxtrot One to Richmond Base, we are 20 minutes out, incoming from the east. Two aircraft. Request permission to land, over.”
Within a minute Ryan was on the radio. He had been deciding what to take on the first load in his secret underground stash, each item checked in case they had been bugged. Several dozen of the largest diamonds from Asteroid DX2014 eleven years earlier were to be placed in crates for loading first. Between them, they were still worth billions.
Ryan had been on the phone to Tesla headquarters and had ordered a dozen more of the latest batteries and electronics. Through the security personnel, he had heard that Tesla was still the most sophisticated vehicle system in the U.S. The vehicles’ range had increased by over double to nearly 1,200 miles thanks to fourth-generation lithium batteries and new developments. Cars now got a significant portion of their energy generated through solar and paint power.
One of the security guards, Sergeant Meyer himself, had purchased one of the latest cars a year earlier, and swore by its greatness. The security team, thanks to Ryan, weren’t poor anymore. They could afford most luxuries, and the sergeant had the latest model with all the options. He had not brought it with him, though; it was back in Seattle.
“Sure, there were copies of Tesla cars over the years,” Sergeant Meyers, a car enthusiast, told Ryan by the pool on his first evening, “but Tesla has put everything they learned from flying into space into their cars. The best invention for the last decade is solar panels on the roof and a new paint job. Martin Brusk reckons that the latest version of his car with its new paint coating has reduced wind drag to near zero, with a result in at least 20 percent more efficiency. In sunny areas like Nevada, the solar panels on the roof and the body’s latest nano-paint can be as high as 28 percent, but not as much where I live in the PNW. More around 22 percent on a cloudy day.”
Ryan was sure that this new technology could somehow be used on Mars, but he needed the best to stay ahead of the rest and that was why he had ordered Brusk’s latest batteries even before arriving back.
“Ryan Richmond to Air Force One,” replied Ryan, not bothering with the aircraft’s call sign. “You have permission to land, but if those fighter aircraft enter my private airspace again, as agreed with the American government, they will be no more than piles of burning rubble on the desert. Our lasers can hit any object larger than a shoe, so I suggest you get your drones, or whatever you have trying to get in close to us, away, or I will give orders to shoot them down.”
“Alpha Foxtrot One to Richmond Base, fifteen minutes to touchdown, out.”
Ryan noticed that the same old 747s came into sight east of the runway. These two were certainly getting old.
Captain Pete, high up in America One, had warned the base of their arrival thirty minutes before actual radio contact had been made. The lasers had easily seen the telltale heat signatures of the two jets, plus the signatures of the two Air Force Raptors out of a base in western Texas.
“Still using the old F-22 merchandise as well,” Allen Saunders had said to Ryan once they had been warned from above. Apart from about eighty military aircraft flights being monitored by America One along all four borders, it had seemed that air travel for the population was a thing of the past.
Lieutenant Walls had told them about the airlines with passengers aboard exploding while crossing the oceans, as far back as 2019. A year later they began exploding for no apparent reasons right over U.S. airspace. The airlines had gone out of business within 6 months. People now travelled by rail, or the road system if they needed to, and far fewer people traveled now as they mostly worked from home. Travel, for many, was a thing of the past. Nobody vacationed further than a few hundred miles from home, and seldom went abroad. Gasoline prices were very high, it was hard to find a station with fuel, and electric cars were the rage of the moment, if one could afford them for several years.
Bob Mathews and his two girls Beth and Monica had arrived a few hours before the radio message from Air Force One in an Australian civilian long-range jet. Captain Pete had made sure that the incoming plane had acceptance to enter U.S. airspace over Los Angeles, and he had followed it into Nevada, calling off the two Air Force jets trailing it. Bob looked older, his hair white, but he was tanned, slim and fit. His flight crew, still together, now spoke with the Australian twang known around the world.
The twang was another shock to the American doctors and staff working with the newcomers from space. Whatever they had been ordered to report, it was now impossible as every person who had returned from space now spoke a language that was totally foreign to them. The space travelers never said a word to them, apart from answering medical questions, and now there were a bunch of Aussies in Nevada. It was unheard of. They hadn’t seen so many travelers for close to a decade now.
Jonesy and Maggie were due to launch with a full cargo of alcohol and luxuries for America One within two hours, and Ryan put Jonesy and Maggie on hold for a day since they were about to be visited.
The two jets came in minutes apart, and after the usual security at the bottom of the aircraft stairs by half a dozen soldiers clambering out of the jets themselves, a civilian walked out of each of the aircraft and were welcomed by Ryan and his crew. The Dead Chicken still dwarfed these two government jets.
Because Ryan didn’t know who was who, he waited for the two men surrounded by security to come to him. Ryan, his pilots, and two security guards were all that welcomed the President and his Secretary of State to the airfield.
The new President looked younger than the previous Presidents. Ryan had begun to realize that he himself was starting to age, and this man, and the other man whoever he was, looked at least five years younger than he was, and they had both been in power for several years.
“Mr. Richmond, good to meet you. I recognize you from previous photos. I’m Joe Monson, Secretary of State. May I introduce you to President William Dithers, a great President; I believe our greatest President ever.” The President shook hands with Ryan and then Ryan shook hands with the man introducing them. Ryan then introduced each of his welcoming committee by name and former military rank.
“Mr. Richmond, it seems you are actually back on Earth again. We didn’t know whether you would have the temerity to return,” smiled the younger man.
“Just because I am down here, Mr. President, it doesn’t mean that my side is any weaker. We have dozens of lasers trained on the White House, the Pentagon, Capitol Hill, your Raptors flying just outside our private space, your own two aircraft, and the tops of yours and Mr. Monson’s heads,” Ryan lied, smiling.
“I’m sure you do. We are on a diplomatic mission, not about to start World War Four, Mr. Richmond. May we enter a building? It is hot out here, and the top of my head is beginning to itch.”
Ryan smiled and brought them to the same conference room where he had spoken to the last President, who hadn’t liked him either.
“So what can I do for you and the American government, Mr. President?” Ryan asked once soft drinks, coffee and snacks had arrived. The room had, on the Secretary of State’s insistence, been emptied apart from the three men. As usual, Ryan was wearing his usual thick, black-rimmed glasses for the meeting.
“You offered us compensation for allowing you to return to your base here in Nevada, Mr. Richmond,” the younger President began, like a similar adversary Ryan had dealt with a decade earlier.
“I would like to make it clear that you did not allow us. We returned to the area of the United States I own, and you had no choice in the matter, and still don’t, Mr. President. I am an American citizen, and this base was purchased outright and belongs to me. I keep my word; you will receive what I promised.”
“Unfortunately, Mr. Richmond, and this includes every one of your staff, or followers, or whatever you call your religious cult, your U.S. citizenship was revoked by my government seven years ago. You are now classed as an enemy of the state, and so is everyone who left Earth with you. Due to these changes, you automatically forfeited this land you purchased, and now you have desecrated an American building in Manhattan, New York by firing on it. Also, you have demolished defense buildings and equipment belonging to the American government, and we want compensation for your destruction to the tune of twenty billion dollars. I heard that you have that in cash in New York right now.” The President smiled at him.
“And the American Constitution, I would assume you cancelled that as well?” Ryan returned, getting angry.
“How I run this country is no concern of yours, Mr. Richmond. Everything my government does is for the betterment of the people, and only for the betterment of our people. The last dozen Presidents, from Nixon onwards, have used that reasoning. You are persona non grata in this country. So is your crew, and I want you out of here as soon as possible, or else.”
“Or else what, Mr. President? I’m holding the gun here, not you. Continue, and you will have no free home in Washington to go back to. I don’t give a damn about you or Monson here, or anybody in the U.S. government. If you won’t follow the Constitution, you are not legitimate. I don’t owe you, or your fake government a damn thing. I have come to take my belongings from, as you have just said, my foreclosed-on property. I am willing to compensate you for that service, but I will not be subjected to intimidation by you, or your armed forces. Do you understand that, Mr. President, or would you really like to see another demonstration of my power? Power you will not believe possible.”
Nothing was said for a few moments while the President and Monson sized up the situation.
“Okay, it seems we have a standoff here. I will allow you to take your things, your trinkets, out of the country, but I want something in return. If you and your entire crew want to stay in this great country, then I want two things.”
Ryan said nothing.
“Mr. Richmond, with this big so-called black magic trick you have up there, I want you to destroy the whole of China, its government, its infrastructure, its people, everything that moves in that country bigger than an ant. I want you to burn that country back to before the Stone Age. Secondly, I want you to do the same to Israel. Once you have completed these two tasks, only then will you be welcomed back as heroes and given the American rights you used to have. How does that sound to you, now a professional gunslinger, Mr. Ryan Richmond?”
“And if I have no interest in killing billions of innocent Chinese, or Israelis by the millions, what then, Mr. President?”
“Simple. You take your junk and get out of this country. Two C-5 loads only. Then you don’t ever return to the United States of America. You do not even return to Earth. Be warned, Richmond, even after you leave Earth, we will hound you, your sons and daughters and your entire cult or whatever you call yourselves until Earth boils over and the sun goes out. That, Mr. Richmond, is my promise to you from the United States government. I gave the orders to NASA, the NSA and the CIA just yesterday as a matter of fact. Even when you do head back into the hole you have dug yourself somewhere out there, I promise you, the government of this country is going to find you, and we will do to you what we did to Al Qaeda. We stopped them in their tracks. I cannot have any person more powerful than I am on this planet. And for your ears, Richmond, I don’t expect to leave office soon, if ever. New laws are about to be passed. Your return has put this country into a State of Emergency, and that could last a very long time. Under these new laws, the current government cannot be changed until the State of Emergency is lifted. You did me a great favor.”
“Do I have a while to think about your offer, Mr. President?” Ryan asked, buying time and actually beginning to look bored. He could see that his actions were angering both men. They were not used to being insulted by anybody.
“You have ten days to get your two flights out of here. I want an answer to both demands an hour before your C-5 heads out of American airspace on its second flight. If your answer is no, then I will give orders to blow that useless bird to kingdom come. Your spacecraft can’t carry much cargo. I’m sure just your crew and a few luxuries. Monson here believes that you wouldn’t bring your magic firepower down here, so we aren’t interested in how many flights you bring up into space. But once the C-5 is destroyed, everything we have down here will lift off to destroy whatever you have up there. Mark my words, Mr. Richmond, you don’t want to cross me. NASA and several other government agencies have a few tricks up our sleeves as much as you do. I just didn’t want our fancy new magic to be shown to our enemies here on Earth just yet. Get my drift? By the way, I want what you offered me and the American people to pay for your ten-day visa here.”
Ryan thought for a few seconds then replied, holding his temper in check.
“That is fair. I already have half a ton of pure platinum, the same in gold, a dozen or so large diamonds, and 150 pounds of rhodium and iridium down here ready for you. That I believe is what you came for, but you will get your treasure only after my first cargo flight leaves the country safely, not before.”
“And the rest?” asked the President without smiling.
“I did not state amounts, Mr. President, but I have 150 pounds of osmium for your country on my next descent from the mother ship, hence the delay in final supply. That is all I have for you.”
“But the last time, you imported tons of goods?”
“Yes, but we have not been asteroid mining as we did before we left. We have lived and survived on bare minimums, and we have offered supplies to other European Countries, and to Australia for their needs,” Ryan replied.
“I don’t give a damn about any other countries, Mr. Richmond, I want what you have,” the President said, now getting really angry.
“Well, I will judge what I give your country, Mr. President, as it’s not mine anymore. You should have thought about that angle when you revoked my citizenship. Of course, I would have been more willing to give my country of citizenship more of my valuable cargo. This is not my country anymore, as you so eloquently explained to me. When my first C-5 load lands in the Sahara, and on my new airstrip I am paying you for, only then will you get anything from me. I think we now understand each other, and I have work to do. You have overstayed your welcome here.”
Unhappy to be unceremoniously dismissed, the President with Monson behind him angrily stormed out of the room, and within minutes their blue and white 747s were taxiing for takeoff.
As with Ryan’s first program, he had bought time. It was only a few days, and he would need to figure out what to do once the C-5 took off for its first flight.
Chapter 3
First Flight
All that night, Ryan and his crew of pilots and security worked out a plan of action to get everything he could out of the country, first in one flight, and if he had the chance, then in a second cargo load.
The only imports coming into the base apart from supplies of liquid hydrogen for the shuttle to use on launches were the latest batteries and electrical components from the car manufacturer, and one delivery truckload of the most modern computers, electrical gadgets and necessities. Igor had ordered them by phoning their supply companies from aboard America One weeks earlier, using ship-to-shore services to connect. They didn’t know the difference, or who was calling.
Ryan put a second call through to the car maker and offered twice the price for expediting the order. The head of the company, his old friend Martin Brusk, asked Ryan if he could deliver some lithium, osmium, iridium and palladium as payment. If he could supply the company with as much lithium as he could, and 100 pounds of any of the rare earth metals his production plant desperately needed, the order would be delivered within the week.
It wasn’t difficult to appease his old buddy, and the Tesla parts, all electrical components and fourth-generation lithium batteries destined for other customers, would be on their way within 48 hours, and the trucks would return with the promised goods.
There were hundreds of premade parts to manufacture new space shuttles and mining craft, including laser construction materials and all the older hydrogen and ion thrusters. All these parts he considered to be safer in his underground chamber here in Nevada than anywhere else on the planet. He had left, and they had scoured the base without finding his secret cavern the size of three Costco stores underneath his apron. The two Bradley fighting vehicles, ammo, and the two military jeeps he could use in the Sahara.
Ryan discussed the needs with his engineering and pilot crews down in the well-lit and semi-clean underground cavern. Less than a tenth of his supplies would be brought above ground and fed into the gigantic cargo hold for the first flight. In two C-5 flights he could fly out a maximum of 260 tons of supplies, 130 tons per load, and in total more than half the weight of the entire mother ship above them.
The most valuable supply Commander Joot needed was the alcohol for powering his two craft. There might even be a third spacecraft inside the “Pig’s Snout,” the nickname they called the commander’s base. Ryan had placed 50,000 gallons of the alcohol inside his secret underground cavern a decade earlier as fuel. All his old vehicles had been reworked to run on alcohol in case there was no fuel on Earth when he returned. Unfortunately, four of the smaller mobile tanks, each holding 5,000 gallons, had leaked. They were half-empty, and he was sure their contents had decayed. He anticipated it was evaporation for the last ten years, as nothing else had been touched inside the large cavern.
Only the larger tank he had purposely constructed out of the same material as the walls of America One had held up, keeping the liquid pure for the time period. The entire 30,000 gallons was possible to take with them, but the tank was far too large to fit into the aircraft’s cargo hold.
Ryan had been given five 1,000-gallon flexible rubber fuel bladders by the Air Force. These bladders would fit into the cargo hold and take up very little room.
Four thousand gallons would weigh around 24 tons, less than 20 percent of the C-5s full cargo weight. Commander Joot had said that 30,000 gallons, when he had been “spirited” down into the cavern and saw the size of the tank, was more than the Matts had produced in their whole lives, and Suzi added to the equation that with alcohol-producing equipment and materials taken up into space, her team could give the commander enough fuel for the future, and hopefully appease Herr Jones at the same time.
One thousand gallons of alcohol/Ethanol was the possible tally on each of the two flights, as the pilots had suggested that jet fuel aboard might be more valuable than the alcohol as backup. Two tons of the alcohol fuel could go up with the shuttles per launch, as the cargo holds of all three shuttles had declined from four tons to only two with their modifications the last time they were on Earth.
He could use some, but not all, of the ammunition he had stored below ground, except to destroy the Matt base in the Sahara when they finally said goodbye. VIN suggested that they could also get explosives flown in from another country for that nasty deed. Ryan didn’t want this base blown off the map once they were out of here, as he might need it on a future return, so the more explosives taken out the better.
Apart from his own security guards on base, the rest of the temporary staff were Air Force personnel, and he was sure some had been sent to keep tabs on him, so he moved nothing out of his underground cavern until all the other personnel were in their accommodations, windows closed and doors barred after 10:30 p.m. each evening. Only then did the pilots man the couple of forklifts and head down into the hole, or drive the vehicles out to load into the massive Dead Chicken.
The two military jeeps would be the last to be driven aboard. One of the Bradleys, close to half the maximum load weight of the C-5, went in during the second night. Weighing in at 29 tons, it was driven into the middle of the cargo hold with 5 tons of its ammunition placed around it.
While the men were moving supplies, Suzi, Saturn Jones, Mars and a few others checked the underground long-term dry food supplies. She and Ryan had stashed away deep-frozen meat, seeds and other biological samples just in case. Thirty tons of dried, frozen meats and seeds were planned to be flown out on each flight.
Half of the 100 tons of meat Ryan had stored in dozens of walk-in freezers, and in the large chest-style 50-cubic-foot freezers he had made on site, still looked perfect. Unfortunately, many of the 100 chest freezers showed temperatures above minus 20 degrees. Some had broken down, and even the stink of rotting meat in them had subsided in the decade of time. Like the dead bodies found in space, the piles of meat in malfunctioned freezers were nothing more than dust.
Ryan realized, looking over the older versions of his hydrogen thrusters, that he had a dozen of these fully operational and virtually new motors in one area of the cavern. They could be fitted onto the Matt craft, and actually replace their ancient alcohol motors if needed, an idea he realized would decrease their need for alcohol. It was better to produce liquid hydrogen in space than ethanol.
He discussed the possibilities with Igor, Boris and the crew on America One during the twenty-minute periods the ship was above them each night. The ship flew over them every hour or so for the allotted time, and with his build crew sitting on the bridge with Captain Pete, he got his answers. Ryan decided to accept the alcohol/Ethanol quantity at 1,000 gallons per load, which would give him the room for extra jet fuel for the flight. He would also load in all his mobile storage Dewars of liquid hydrogen, argon, nitrogen and helium.
Even at low cruise, the C-5’s range, fully loaded with 85 percent cargo weight, would be about 2,700 nautical miles. As backup, four of the rubber fuel bladders were to be filled with 4,000 gallons of jet fuel and connected to the aircraft’s fuel tanks from inside the cargo hold. In an emergency, this could increase her range by another 300 miles.
The U.S. Air Force, in the agreement with the U.S. government, was to refuel the C-5 heading out over the Atlantic, but as Jonesy and Allen Saunders had suggested, their problems would mount quickly if somebody changed their minds about giving them fuel while in midair, miles out over water.
“What politician could be trusted in this new government?” VIN added when he had learned that even he wasn’t a U.S. citizen anymore.
Over a few nights the C-5 was filled, its hold crammed full of vehicles, liquid rubber bladders filled to the brim, dozens of freezers connected to the aircraft’s electrical connections and the several large diesel generators stored a decade earlier.
Even though the first flight was loaded and closed up, and the C-5 towed back to its hangar for shade, Ryan and his crew still pondered their route. The Dead Chicken was a powerful bird, but very thirsty, and a maximum 3,000 mile range wouldn’t get them far heading over the U.S. continent and then the mighty Atlantic.
It would be Bob Mathews who would save the day for Ryan. The Aussie had needed rest, as he was jet lagged, and hadn’t taken part in the nights’ loading. While the crew who had worked all night headed off for a few hours’ sleep, the Air Force personnel were allowed out of their apartments by security, Bob Mathews headed over to breakfast, and an hour later he found Ryan alone and still pondering his problem.
“G’day, Ryan. You look exhausted and puzzled all at the same time,” Bob Mathews said, knocking on the semi-open door to the conference room, the same room in which Ryan had met with the President. It was the beginning of day four. The President had given him ten more days to get out of Dodge.
“Our first load is 110 tons, 85 percent of full load. With full fuel, the Dead Chicken, Jonesy reckons, has a maximum 3,100 mile range, including 4,000 reserve gallons, four full bladders of jet fuel in the hold,” replied Ryan, looking up at the aging pilot.
“And?” asked Bob, grabbing the ever-present cup of coffee.
“Washington has guaranteed us air refueling on our route to North Africa and back,” said Ryan deep in thought. “I need two C-5 cargo flights to get everything I want out of here. It can be done, but this new President has already threatened that he might blast us out of the sky before the second flight, and Generals Jones and Saunders think the refueling aircraft might not appear on time, even on our first outbound flight. This new American government cannot be trusted.”
“Easy,” replied Bob. “We get a backup refueling rig set up around Cuba, or any country who doesn’t like the USA. I’m sure Britain or one of the European countries will be glad to help. Actually, Australia has offered anything you want. There is a new worldwide alliance, and it might just work.”
“Go on,” said Ryan.
“The Aussie Air Force still fly six old C-17s purchased from the United States. The most recent one I believe is only 15 or so years old…”
“C-17s are not refueling tankers,” Ryan interrupted.
“No, but the Aussies have Airbus 330s which must have been adapted to refuel the 17s, and the air refueling system on a 17 is the same as on our Dead Chicken.” Bob smiled.
“I get it,” replied Ryan, smiling. “I can test the honesty of this government by asking the Aussies to station a refueling aircraft on our route. If the U.S. Air Force supplies us, all well and good, but if they don’t, and before we have to parachute out, our backup will give us fuel to go on.”
“Precisely,” smiled Bob.
“Can you organize that?” Ryan asked.
“For what you have for sale up there in America One, mate, you could purchase anything you want on this planet,” Bob Mathews smiled.
Six hours later, Jonesy and Maggie said goodbye to their daughter and the rest of the crew, and SB-III lifted off for its second return flight to space. Ryan did not want to have two laser-armed shuttles down on the planet anymore. One more laser gunner up above would make him sleep better at night.
Apart from a ton of alcohol in two tanks, half fore and half in the aft hold, SB-III carried one of the old shuttle spaceflight simulators from the underground cavern for the next generation to begin learning on. The cargo manifest consisted of frozen meat, fresh coffee, milk, butter, fresh vegetables and anything else Suzi could purchase from Las Vegas and get delivered. Ryan’s credit was still good.
Among the supplies was 100 pounds of chocolate for Mr. Rose, who was still on Mars. He was rather partial to Hershey’s, Almond Joys, Snickers, Mars, etc., which Suzi didn’t like. She preferred Swiss or German chocolate.
SB-III had gone through a complete outside skin and insulating tile check before liftoff. Allen Saunders had brought down four of the flight engineers when he had returned, and now they were going over the outer skin and heat-protection bricks underneath his craft, SB-II, for the first time in atmospheric conditions since they had left Earth. Jonesy and Maggie would return in SB-I for its ground checkup in 72 hours, with the Pitt family aboard to fly her back.
Only once they were out of the USA would Ryan allow more people down on planet Earth. Nobody was an American citizen anymore, and that technically made them “aliens.” He had also decided that none of the shuttles would be on the ground when the Dead Chicken took off for Africa on its first flight. He wanted every available gun cocked and ready, and he didn’t intend to bring her back if they weren’t refueled. The U.S. didn’t seem to want the Dead Chicken anymore.
Jonesy and his wife expertly flew the shuttle into space for the umpteenth time, and it only took two orbits and six hours after reaching the Kàrmán line before they could see the glinting and familiar shape of America One, a hundred or so miles ahead of them, and still in a Low Earth Orbit, 150 miles above.
Jonesy and Maggie were strong again, compared to the others who hadn’t yet tasted Earth’s gravity, and Jonesy’s mind kept going back to whether he actually wanted to stay on Earth for the rest of his life, or whether he wanted to become a Martian. His parents did, not something he had never thought possible.
Chief Astronaut Jones had managed to contact his parents on the second day after Saturn had arrived down at the base. Jonesy used a prepaid cell phone in the security office, and his mother had answered the call, not believing that he was her son. She told the man on the phone that her son had died out in space somewhere years earlier.
After several attempts, he persuaded her to listen to reason, then put Maggie on the phone, and after Maggie tried a few times, gave Saturn the chance to say hi to her grandmother.
Jonesy could hear his mother crying as she still kept asking Saturn if she was actually alive. Saturn, now eleven, told her that they were all fine, and that her grandparents should visit her in Nevada. Jonesy was handed the phone back and he asked where his father was.
“Still on the porch, where he stays most of the day,” she replied. “If that is really you, son? We are fine, and live a very quiet life. We are pretty old now. We stayed aboard ship for five years before we got tired of sea travel.”
“Can you still travel, Ma?” Jonesy asked.
“Sort of. We drive into town once a month to get groceries, Junior. My eyesight is getting bad, but I can still drive. Your father has good eyesight, but is getting pretty deaf, but yes, I can still drive.”
“We can’t leave here, Ma. Maggie and I have to fly in a few days. Why don’t I get VIN, remember VIN, Ma? He could come and get you. I’m sure Ryan will let him. Would you two like to come over and come with us on out the next flight to Mars? There is room at the Retreat, and it would be real flying, and something different for Dad for his final years, and you could spend some time with your granddaughter.”
Jonesy heard his mother take the phone away from her ear and scream loudly, wincing at the volume he assumed in the direction of the porch. “Joseph Jones, Junior is on the phone. He wants to know if you and I want to go to Mars. We can look after Saturn as well.”
Both Maggie and Saturn could hear the loud-pitched question through the phone, and the Jones girls smiled.
“I hope the government isn’t listening, Jonesy. They will commit your mother if they are,” smiled Maggie. Only Jonesy could hear the reply. It was faint, but it was his father all right.
“Tell that good-for-nothing kid that……yes, we’re ready for Mars, if that gives me time with Maggie and Saturn. Do they have any food and beer up there?”
“Yes Ma, we have everything Dad needs, and free health care,” said Jonesy.
“Junior says free health care is included. Do you want to go, Joseph?”
“Damn woman, how many times must I say yes? We can vegetate here in Colorado, or vegetate up there. Who the hell cares?”
“It seems that your father and I want to go, Junior,” was her reply.
Jonesy smiled at the way his parents hadn’t changed. He told them to ready only one suitcase each. The base would supply them with what they needed, but first they were going fishing for a few months. Yes, fishing on Earth and no, not in Colorado, and somebody would be coming to get them in the next ten days.
Ryan just about coughed up a whole mouthful of coffee when the Jones family excitedly told him of the two new passengers on the crew manifest a few hours later. He had learned that as long as the Jones and Noble families were taken care of, then everything else seemed to slip into place around him. There would be ten times the amount of room at the Martian base than aboard America One, and why not? VIN, he and Suzi had no more family alive, and so far only Lieutenant Walls, his two family members, and now Mr. and Mrs. Jones were added. There was still a lot of room in the new Martian “Hotel California,” as Jonesy called the new base in space.
Maggie docked SB-III on its usual docking port inside the shield that Captain Pete had told the incoming astronauts was now partly full of atmosphere. The approach to the docking port had been slightly different, as there had been bubbles of air whizzing around them. Enough to nearly put the astronaut off her aim.
They only had a 12-hour turnaround time. SB-I was ready to fly almost immediately, but the astronauts needed a 12 hour break between flights. Orders from both doctors.
To both, the weightlessness and pale faces of the crew aboard was something to get used to again. To the crew, the suntanned complexions reminded them of beaches, hot summer sun, and vacations.
For Maggie, she was now separated from her daughter, something that she wasn’t that used to yet, and she would have returned immediately if it was possible. It seemed nobody in Ryan’s crew trusted the U.S. government and its word to leave them alone.
Captain Pete looked worried after Jonesy and Maggie had headed up to the bridge for debriefing. The Captain, Igor, Boris, Fritz, Michael Pitt and Roo were waiting for them. The bridge had Ryan on the radio. It was time to employ new tactics to gain time to get out of the country. Captain Pete was worried because Maggie Jones had told him over the intercom, while she was trying to dock, that filling the inner shield with oxygen was a bad idea.
“High quantities of oxygen can explode if rockets, missiles or even laser beams hit the shield,” she said, her hands on her hips.
Sometimes it took a real woman to make men listen to reason. “There is no need for an atmosphere around this ship until we are back orbiting, or the ship has landed on the red planet itself. All you are doing is turning the vacuum around the ship into a deadlier explosive force by adding air with high amounts of oxygen.”
After several comments agreeing with her, Ryan asked Captain Pete to either recapture the valuable atmospheric air, or let it go. Then they got on with the briefing.
“Since we tracked Air Force One back to Washington, there has begun a buildup of military tractor transporters in the direction of Nevada,” began Captain Pete, relaxing again. “Through our eyes out there, and our astronauts are getting tired, we have spread our cameras on China and the U.S. as each ship passes over. Once we see any mass movement, especially military air or ground units, it is recorded into the computers and the computers relay the locations to the next craft arriving over the horizon. Much like the old military surveillance done by the old military satellites, any recorded movement is followed and tracked to its destination.”
“Can you track so much in two massive countries, Captain?” asked Ryan from Nevada, “And what about the other countries we should be keeping tabs on?”
“With difficulty, boss,” Captain Pete responded. “The monitoring is beginning to cause long hours and lack of sleep, but luckily there is not much to record in China or the other countries right now. There are only small movements in North Korea and Iran. Both countries are beginning to repair the damage we caused, and Russia seems totally asleep. Therefore, I have given orders to spend 80 percent of our recording capabilities on the U.S., and especially on the states around you in Nevada. Please remember, boss, we have only just started to see ground troop movements. There have been several fighters, F-22s and 35s, we believe, heading west from Texas and the East Coast during the last twelve hours. The Nevada base is tiny.”
“Understood,” replied Ryan.
“Back to the troop movements. The Nevada base is tiny, a plus for us. Only so many troops can be moved in at any one time. We can monitor all movement into Nevada from neighboring states. I believe that the Pentagon is worried about us hitting any incoming jets, but are thinking we can’t see ground movement. I believe they have already forgotten what we did to those tanks in the Middle East years ago, as much of the ground movements are trailered Abrams tanks heading toward Nevada from the east, west and north.”
“How many?” Ryan asked.
“We have recorded 38 ground movements toward your base. Seven vehicles have entered Nevada from California and are going south from the Reno area; Abrams tanks. They are only travelling after dark and moving in two-hour intervals. Six transporters have been spotted heading toward Creech Air Force Base from Nellis, carrying Bradley fighting vehicles. Of course it could be normal traffic, but the air traffic into Creech and Nellis has increased since you left, and especially after Air Force One left you. I have seen this type of movement before. It is normal preparation for an attack.”
“When would be the best time to attack our base?” Ryan questioned.
VIN immediately had an answer. “When we leave for Africa,” was his simple suggestion.
“I agree,” added Jonesy from the bridge.
“When this base is least protected, and our eyes up there are following you over the U.S. and then the Atlantic,” added Allen Saunders down in Nevada.
“If I had been given orders to attack the base in Nevada, I would do it when there was least resistance, and our attention is somewhere else,” said Michael Pitt up in America One.
“Why would your country’s commander attack his own country?” asked Roo, trying hard to think like Homo sapiens. “He could hurt people.”
“Hurting people, even millions of them, is of no interest to the President,” Ryan replied. “Captain Pete, let Roo watch the recording of my meeting with him. My glasses worked perfectly. Thank you for these old glasses, Igor, Boris. I will allow Commander Joot to see my meeting with the President down here, and then I might send a copy over to China when needed. I doubt Washington allows freedom of speech with this new administration. It seems that the citizens of the country aren’t allowed to do anything anymore. I’ve been watching the news down here. It all seems so false. We never arrived. It is all sports or advertisements, and when politics comes on, it seems only good news and backslapping Washington.”
“We have been monitoring a few channels up here, mostly the main news channels,” added Captain Pete. “Nothing has changed since we left, except that there is more of the backslapping, as you put it, boss.”
“So we take off, fly out of the country, and they attack our base, hoping to get their spoils you promised them, plus any of our secret equipment that might be there,” added Jonesy.
“I would call that a good plan, the only plan they can work,” said VIN. “They attack our base. It will take us 5 or 6 hours to get out of the country. Maybe they can jam any radio transmissions we might receive from Nevada, and then we are out of sight of land and suddenly find no air refueling. They think they will take us out down here in one blow, and Ryan, public enemy number one, is secretly taken out at the same time, and nobody knows what to do and we are afraid to fire and destroy our own equipment on our own base. It’s the only logical conclusion.”
“That sounds about right,” said Ryan. “Why would the President and Secretary of State come and visit me personally, except to see if I’m actually here and to lower my guard. They could have sent a congressman, a senator, or even the commander of Nellis.”
“So I reckon when you leave, nothing of importance, not our laser equipment or the new equipment you have ordered, not a shuttle or anything from space must be left on the ground when the Dead Chicken takes off for Africa,” said Captain Pete.
“And you, Ryan and family, had better be somewhere else at the time,” suggested Jonesy.
“Actually nobody from space, or who is going to space, should remain on Earth either,” said VIN.
“Another point,” interrupted Igor. He wasn’t so much a military man, but was thinking along the same lines. “We are expecting to redirect our shuttle landings to our new base in the Sahara once the tarmac is installed in fifteen days. If the President only gave you ten days from your meeting then it seems to me that he isn’t intending to keep his side of the bargain; that of building you a new runway in Africa either.”
“Captain Pete?” Ryan asked.
“As of three hours ago, there was still activity down on the new runway. The cameras can’t tell if the area has been actually leveled to lay down asphalt, but it could be a ruse to make us think that.”
“Well, it is pretty bad being semi-blind down here,” Ryan continued, “and I don’t want to bring down any more equipment. We have 78 hours before we take off to be in our ten-day window to give our second cargo load a chance to leave the country. I think Bob Mathews has all our answers, and I think we need to make our intentions clear with a friendly country instead of the one we are in. How long will it take to ready SB-III for reentry?”
“Thirteen hours. We are already removing her cargo,” replied Fritz on the radio, in charge of loading and unloading the shuttles and mining craft.
“Mr. Jones, a change of plan,” continued Ryan from below. “Mrs. Jones, you and Mr. Pitt return in SB-I. I’m switching you over in case Mr. Pitt is rusty. No offense, Mr. Pitt. Mrs. Pitt, you fly down with our chief astronaut in SB-III one hour behind, and once you are cleared to fly in atmospheric conditions again by the Joneses you will both take command of SB-I again. I have valuable equipment coming in: 19 tons of parts, equipment and the latest computers I ordered once we had radio communications with the companies I have dealt with before. Our guys up there can put the parts together. At least 6 tons of it can head into space when we take off for Africa, as well as crew needed up there. The shuttles can return to our new country once we are safe. The rest of us will head out in the Dead Chicken and our two Gulfstreams. I will repack the Dead Chicken once the new equipment arrives, as I’m thinking that at least one load is better than nothing. Mr. Mathews, are you being patched through on microphone from the Dead Chicken?”
“Yes, hi Captain Pete, Igor, Boris, Fritz, and all my old buddies up there. I have been listening in. I need a secure link to a military radio directed on these co-ordinates, and on the following radio frequency. Captain Pete, can you set that up for me?”
Captain Pete used the onboard computers to patch into the frequency, and then sent out a message of introduction.
“Life has certainly changed in communications since we left. Earth is nearly back to the Stone Age,” he mumbled to anyone listening as he worked on the computer. Several seconds later a reply came through.
“America One, read you loud and clear. I’m just getting the person Bob would like to talk to. Here he is. Can you patch us through to Bob, over?”
“You are through. Go ahead, Nevada,” said Captain Pete. Everyone was able to hear the conversation.
“The weather is beautiful in Melbourne this time of year.”
“Yes, too cold for vegetation though,” was the reply from a new voice all could hear had the same new accent Bob Mathews had.
“Doug, is that you?” Bob asked.
“Dead on, mate,” replied Doug whoever-he-was.
“We have a secure line for an unknown period. There are a dozen or so questions a few friends of mine and I want to ask. I will start with mine, so get ready. One, are you friendly with Hugo Chavez’s old country? Two, can you use your aircraft to air-refuel a U.S. C-5 from that country in 72 hours? Three, if so, can you base it there for a week or so? Four, we might need two of your refueling aircraft, 3,000 miles apart. Five, how friendly are you with Gadhafi’s old country? Six, can you airlift runway construction equipment into there? And seven, do you have a base in your country for our temporary use? Bob, we need 10,000 feet of hardtop in a nice hot-weather climate. That’s all I have for you. I’m sure my friends have more questions, over.”
“Give me a few minutes, Bob. Any other questions?”
“I need to know the strength of your Air Force if you are attacked by another country,” continued Ryan, not introducing himself. “Your friendship status with the Land of Zion, and North Africa as a whole. Can you deliver midsized earthmoving equipment into the second country Bob mentioned, by air? Finally, your status with the USA? That’s all I have for you.”
“Right mates, the answers are already….” said Doug. Suddenly he was cut off.
“Somebody is trying to jam our conversation,” added Captain Pete, and Bob Mathews gave him a second frequency to switch to.
“Somebody out there doesn’t like the freedom of speech anymore. I can guess who. Can you guys? A hint; that good old freedom-styled country who used to run the world, and still thinks it does,” said Doug, once communications had returned.
“How can you tell?” Ryan asked.
“The Asians have different ways of doing things. They might be listening, but often we can’t tell. The guys south of the Canadian border are blatant, in your face, and without any thought of the damage they could do. Just be careful what you say. You never know who is listening, unless it’s the NSA. Then you do.”
Doug laughed and the crew realized that this smaller country didn’t seem to be scared of other nations, especially the one Ryan was speaking from. Doug continued. “Bob, your questions. Yes to 1, 2, and 3. Number 4, two tankers for a Charlie 5, yes. Gadhafi’s old home, better ties than where you are, and yes to all your other questions. Do you want me to begin these operations?”
“Affirmative,” said Ryan.
“Got that. The questions from the second caller. Question one, we hold hands, and are lifetime friends. Anything you want, just ask. We all hate the same countries, and are all friends. Pure gold or diamonds in this area speaks louder than politics. Last question. The good old USA has few friends due to the latest administration. Many of us have a three-year old alliance including Canada, the whole of Australasia, South America, and much of Europe and the Middle East. It is called ‘The New Free Alliance.’ We don’t do business with the USA, Russia or China, we don’t answer their calls, and we will all defend each other if any of our alliance partners are attacked. Don’t get us wrong, guys up there, we love the American people, but we have been let down too many times by their governments. The same attitude goes for China and Russia, who are both now out on a limb and by themselves. As for the old pits of aggression: North Korea is semi-controlled by South Korea. Iran, Iraq, and Syria, another new alliance, are surrounded by enemies, our allies, so they are much like a tiger without teeth.”
Again the frequency was attacked and the communications dissolved into hissing sounds.
“I have my answers, Bob,” added Ryan to the hissing. “Thanks for your help. Guys, you have your orders. We will meet again when you return, out.”
Captain Pete chatted with the crew for the rest of the day. The crew found out that Captain Pete and Dr. Nancy were to marry, and that the Captain had hoped for a wild party and getting hitched in Las Vegas.
Dr. Nancy, who arrived as the meeting ended, was cheered and welcomed onto the bridge with fanfare. She blushed, and Maggie Jones realized that Captain Pete, at least 20 years her senior, was a very lucky man.
Jonesy reckoned that it was celebration time, but was halted in his tracks by his wife, who dragged him off to their apartment to rest. There would be plenty of time in the future.
Ryan watched as the first shuttle came in a day later, and then the second, exactly to the minute, an hour after that. The computers controlled the reentries and landings and had them down pat on this part of the world, and he wondered if there would be any hiccups at a new location.
An hour before SB-I came in, Allen and Kathy Saunders launched in SB-II full of recently delivered cargo: two tons of the most modern electronics the private sector had. They would not return to Earth, but would stand guard with their second laser until the other two shuttles refueled and were back in space. Commander Joot, bored with his confined stay on Earth, headed up with Allen and Kathy. That made it easier to keep him hidden, and now that there was fuel above for his craft, he could use one of his two Matt craft without its shield extended and add to the spacecraft numbers. Captain Pete was sure every craft was being scrutinized every minute of the day in orbit around Earth. Ryan also knew that every missile, every tube ready for launch in several countries, was most probably following every move.
Only the first stage liftoff and the whole reentry were extreme danger times for the shuttles. He didn’t want to advertise, or have their blue shields noticed from the ground, and on liftoff they were only turned on once the shuttles ignited their second stage and were virtually in space. He hadn’t yet risked reentry with the shields on yet. Nobody knew what would happen to his craft. Commander Joot said it wouldn’t be any different, but Ryan wasn’t risking a possible loss of shuttle and crew until they were absolutely needed.
“Mr. Richmond, we have a commotion at the outer gate,” said Lieutenant Walls an hour after the second shuttle had arrived, and Ryan couldn’t understand what Walls was talking about.
“A commotion with our Air Force personnel?” Ryan asked, puzzled.
“No, with civilians standing outside the gate.”
“Civilians! What do civilians have to do with us?” Ryan asked, still not understanding.
“They want to go to Mars, sir. They want to leave the country.”
“That’s impossible. We can’t take American civilians with us,”
“Then you had better tell them, sir. It seems the shuttle launches are getting some attention in Las Vegas. Mr. Noble and a few others are ready to go with you. My son and grandson arrived an hour ago. May I let them in, sir?”
“Of course,” was Ryan’s reply.
Ryan headed out. Jonesy was about to take off in his Gulfstream, which had recently been shuttled in by Air Force personnel from Nellis, with Ryan’s own Gulfstream. Ryan heard the aircraft taxiing down the runway, and knew Jonesy would be doing the flying, as Maggie had just landed with Michael Pitt. He knew that only Saturn Jones and Mars Noble were the passengers aboard. Mars had pleaded with Ryan to go along once his father had given him permission. The kid wanted to see a little of the United States at low altitude, after all.
Ryan had phoned Colorado hours earlier and told Jonesy’s parents to meet their son at the old Denver International airport. Captain Pete in America One had registered the atmospheric flight with the Pentagon, from Nevada to Denver and back. They had not responded.
As the Gulfstream left the runway, Ryan looked up and saw two jet trails high in the sky toward the west. They would certainly follow Jonesy’s aircraft there and back, and Captain Pete had his finger ready on the laser trigger. So would Allen Saunders, when his shuttle was over the States.
“Thanks for coming, everyone, but may I ask what you all want?” Ryan shouted through a megaphone given to him by VIN.
“Come with you!” shouted one.
“Take my children!” shouted a lady.
“I will pay you!” shouted a third.
“Unfortunately, we are not welcome here in your country. This country is not ours anymore. We are considered illegal aliens by your government, and we are not Americans on this base. That privilege was taken away from us. I don’t think your government would appreciate us taking you with. They could call it kidnapping, and we have no room. We live on another planet with no oxygen or water, no swimming, no television, no sports, no hobbies, and very few luxuries. You can die at any time, and it is no place for the faint hearted.”
That seemed to convince many of the hundred or so people staring at him through the wire. They slowly began to walk back to their cars and head away grumbling. A few remained.
One said, “I am Nickolas Bennett, Head of the Astrophysics Department at UCLA. We picked up your arrival on our long wave radio. My wife and son and I would like to join you. My wife has a Masters in chemistry, and we believe we could be an asset to your organization.”
“Lieutenant Walls, get a few men, remember, like we used to when we interviewed Mr. Noble and Mr. Jones, and allow the people I accept through the gate.”
“Yes, Mr. Richmond, sir!” Lieutenant Walls responded, smiling. He and his men had done this dozens of times, except that this time there was no paperwork for the new arrivals. There was no paperwork on the base at all. The family of three entered.
Ryan then saw a Tesla pull forward as the others gave it space. It was white, a four door model, and dusty, very dusty. It looked like it had been driven hard. He was quite shocked to see his old pal Martin Brusk, a very pretty lady, two teenage girls and a young boy get out.
“Not you as well, Martin?” shouted Ryan. “I just paid you for your electrical components.”
“I’m thinking of a temporary vacation. Somewhere where somebody might appreciate my engineering, Ryan. Got room for five of us?”
“Of course, come in,” Ryan responded, smiling.
“Remember me?” asked an older man. He did look familiar. “Bill Withers, former Head of NASA, now unemployed, retired, and I need a new life.” Bill Withers had worked for Ryan but had let him down pretty badly being a spy for the last government.
“Sorry Bill, you had your chance, and you are out of luck I’m afraid.”
Ryan let in one more family. A young family with three good-looking boys aged between five and ten. The man was a manufacturing engineer and his wife taught biology at the University of Nevada.
By that time, most of the people had gone. Ryan decided that he had enough new blood, except for one very pretty young blonde girl who was sitting on the front of an old 1970s Volkswagen soft top. He asked VIN to go and find the lonely and single German who had been squeezed into one of the cockpits during reentry, to find a mate.
Ryan invited the girl in, the last remaining person, and asked her age. She was 25, and funnily enough refused to give her name, only that she called herself Jane Doe. He detected a slight East Coast accent. She told him that she was in college studying astrophysics, but she didn’t say which one.
The German was introduced to the girl a few minutes later. Compared to his slight build, thick glasses and pale complexion weeks earlier aboard the mother ship, he now looked sunburnt, and seemed to suddenly experience love at first sight at seeing the girl.
“Jane Doe, may I introduce Hans Dietrich, PhD in Physics, University of Berlin. He will be your chaperone.” The girl with one small suitcase in her right hand seemed to accept the man’s introduction. He did have a PhD in the same subject after all. They headed off up the hill to the second gate with a security guard, the German dancing around her like a dog with its owner.
Martin Brusk and family had driven through the gate and were waiting for Ryan. All the equipment Ryan had ordered had been delivered and what he could take in the first load was already aboard the Dead Chicken sitting in the coolness of its own hangar.
“No corporate jet?” asked Ryan when he caught up with his old friend. Martin had helped him when he was in need, and now it was Ryan’s turn to repay the favors.
“A few misunderstandings with Washington about my business dealings in other countries. They have forbidden me to use my jet. A free country no longer I’m afraid, Ryan.”
“What is wrong with these people?” Ryan asked. Martin’s wife drove the car, in front of the other two family’s vehicles and behind two security guards, one in a military jeep and the other driving the Volkswagen. The two men walked.
“A simple problem,” Martin responded, smiling. “You have been away nearly eleven years. Not much has changed since you had those differences with the last President you didn’t like. This country always claimed to be the most powerful in the world, and its President the most powerful man in the world. Well, sometimes that possibility goes to their heads, and they believe themselves above the rest of the world. So did many of the Greek and Roman Emperors in their reigns. It also happened to Hitler. It seems that Washington will not understand that the U.S. is not the policeman of the world anymore, and its new anti-freedom polices, especially toward its own people, are not welcomed in many freer countries. Every day, we are told that we live in a nation that puts freedom above everything else, but what the media dictates and what is truth are actual opposites. The Constitution is all but gone. Blown away as ‘ancient history and not important in this modern world’ as Washington said. The current President gave a speech five years ago saying that it was for the good of the people that the American Constitution must be forgotten. Everything administered from Washington today is ‘for the betterment of the people.’ Forbidding me to complete international business is ‘for the betterment of the people.’ So is bickering with the rest of the world, and even this administration who is trying to extend the President’s term another four years states that he is ‘totally for the betterment of the people.’ Washington has lost it.”
“Washington had lost it last time I was here,” replied Ryan.
“Two statistics since you left will sum up this country, Ryan. Unemployment, 21 percent. Growth, zero. When you left, unemployment was at 8 percent, growth just over 1.5 percent a year.” Ryan nodded, he didn’t need to be told anymore, but Martin went on.
“It is about the same in China, although most of their unemployed have gone back to farming, and they might be in a minus growth scenario these days. Exactly the same with Russia, and pretty much as bad in all the countries around the world. Without international trade, there is no hope for most of the population of this planet to survive. Many countries are seeing a decline in population numbers.”
“So that is why you now want to come with me?” Ryan bullied his friend jokingly.
“I have the most modern electrical car technology in this country, and possibly even the world. I would like to get my auto manufacturing plant in California out of this country. To do this, I will need two of the largest container ships afloat to move. The government won’t let me have them. I either set up in Europe or Australia, or on Mars. I don’t mind which.”
Ryan’s crew had just increased by 13, and there was no way that he could get them all into space. They would have to leave the country in the Dead Chicken.
Jonesy radioed back from Denver that he’d picked up his parents, he was being tailed by two aircraft and he had just reached cruising altitude for the return flight.
His father hadn’t changed much. The old man was a little weaker, needed a little help walking, and his mother had pure white hair.
What did surprise Jonesy was that there was no air traffic control from the many places he was used to getting into contact with. Jonesy got airborne leaving the base’s 20-mile private perimeter and through usual radio procedure asked to file a flight plan. Somebody on the radio asked him where had he been, and was he authorized to be flying?
Jonesy eloquently told the man that he had been to bloody Mars, and he didn’t give a rat’s ass whether he was allowed to fly or not. The man didn’t respond again. Apart from two blips on his radar, he was all alone over this part of the Nevada-Utah border, and he didn’t see anything else flying for most of the flight.
An hour later he checked the aircraft logs and screens for frequencies to fly into Denver International, and there were only four aircraft on his radar. One was traveling north, one east from Denver and the two “tails” about a hundred miles behind him. Maggie, in the right seat, told him to just head in as if he was about to land at a smaller unattended airfield, and to call out his intentions over the radio clearly. He wasn’t spoken at all the way down to the dusty runway.
There were several aircraft at the gates, which made the desolate Denver International terminal look normal, but Jonesy was surprised that on many of them, important parts had actually broken off. One had no engines. One aircraft, a private jet actually leaving a gate for a flight, had no markings. Another had a wing that looked like it had been taken apart, pieces of flaps and air brakes strewn around the aircraft.
What really surprised him was what looked like his mother’s car. The car was waiting for him in front of the terminal, on the actual apron, and right next to a broken-down American Airlines MD-80 with two of its four engines on one side hanging at an odd angle.
Jonesy taxied toward his the car. It was over 20 years old. He had seen it on his two most recent visits to Colorado a decade earlier. His parents were standing up each side of their vehicle, waving and attempting to get his attention. They had flown in the Gulfstream before, and knew it was their son flying that aircraft.
Maggie suggested that Jonesy stop at least 100 feet in front of the car, to allow them to get out of there fast. Also the noise of the jets too close would hurt his parents’ ears. As he parked, the old couple pulled two large suitcases out of the car’s trunk, closed it and began walking toward the aircraft. Nobody was about, and both pilots were thinking it was a trap, or some sort of setup. It looked just that.
Even so, he throttled down the two jets, and Maggie went back with the two kids to open the rear door. Without anybody coming to halt them, or soldiers rushing out of hidden places, the passengers climbed up the short staircase.
As Jonesy saw the door close on his instrument panel, he ramped the jets back up, and within ten minutes, in a slight crosswind, the Gulfstream left the runway, spewing dust off the dirty tarmac and leaving the rusty old Jones car to its fate.
Three hours later, the entire Jones family was back at base, drinking a cold beer with Ryan and a few others. The older couple looked healthy, fit and seemed excited to be with family and friends again.
“It hasn’t been a comfortable ride in the States since we got back from cruising,” said Jonesy’s father to the group around them.
The work was done for the day. Two lasers gunners were circulating above protecting them. The other two shuttles were down being refueled and loaded with the new cargo for liftoff an hour before the Dead Chicken in 48 hours’ time. Twenty engineers and a dozen of the security guards were working to ready both spacecraft for launch.
Another dozen guards made sure the Air Force personnel were already in their apartments, and not seeing what was being loaded, and the sun set as the barbeque sizzled away next to the pool and the cold beers were replaced in an iced bucket next to the group. “We returned to the States, to Charleston, South Carolina aboard the tour ship, and were shocked to see how the country had changed,” the old man continued. “Was it 2022 or 23 when we returned?” he asked his wife.
“We left in 2018, so I think 2023 dear, we were away a little over five years on our cruises,” she replied.
“So much had changed. We wanted to get a flight from South Carolina to Denver. There was only one flight a week. We waited in a rundown bed-bugged Best Western for five days for our flight. There were only 7 passengers aboard, plus us. There was no security door to the cockpit, and only one pilot and one cabin attendant. Before we left for our cruise in 2018, the security was unbelievable. Everybody was nearly strip-searched. There were armed flight personnel aboard every flight. Now, on our return flight, the security door to the cockpit was stuck open. The pilots said there was no way to repair it. Son, all flight protocol by the pilot was completely lacking.”
“One pilot, and he looked unshaven and tired. I could have slept in the bags under his eyes,” added Jonesy’s mother.
“Now there aren’t any flights,” the old man continued.
“And very little in the department stores,” added his wife. “We haven’t seen a penny of our government pay for several months. We took out the rest of the money from our bank account the first month our social security checks didn’t arrive, and our bank’s branch was closed a month later. We still pay for food in dollars, but it’s more of an auction system now, and you just hope you can afford your groceries every month.”
“We spent more and more time extending the vegetable garden, canning and bottling for the winter months,” added Jonesy’s father, “and now eat the deer I shoot and skin when there is no meat in the stores. There isn’t much meat, or anything left these days. I purchased a one hundred pound piece of meat three months ago, one single slab of meat, cow or horse I think it was, at Walmart or Costco in Denver. It still had fur on it, and cost me a thousand dollars.”
“We even started brewing our own whiskey,” added Jonesy’s mother.
“Brewing whiskey sounds like a Jones family tradition,” joked Ryan, and he got a dirty look from his chief astronaut, the astronaut’s father, and young Saturn Jones.
Up in space, the crew on the bridge were monitoring aircraft movements around the world. At the same time the barbeque was taking place, they noticed the blips of a dozen aircraft take off from Eastern Australia. With nothing much to do, and since the movement of aircraft from this region was expected, they followed them. The Australian aircraft flew nonstop over the Pacific in a northwesterly direction, and to the captain it seemed that they were being refueled in the air, as some had large shadows and a few looked like smaller jet fighters. There was no other movement in Europe, or Russia, or the whole of Asia.
In one whole orbit, he counted only twenty other aircraft around the globe. These flights were all along the four borders of the United States, with a couple flights flying east to west into Arizona and Texas. This was the route the Dead Chicken would take, and he hoped that the government wouldn’t let them down. Captain Pete couldn’t understand the petty thinking of his proud old country, the country he had been told by Ryan he didn’t belong to anymore.
Thirty hours after taking off from Australia, he watched three of the larger aircraft take off and fly on from where the formation of aircraft had originally landed, close to Caracas in Venezuela, and these three headed toward the C-5’s destination: the Sahara Desert.
It wasn’t more than 20 hours after that takeoff in Venezuela when his computers told him of the first shuttle’s liftoff from Nevada, and then the second shuttle launch 50 minutes later. They were all observing complete radio silence.
Both orbiting lasers pointed down on U.S. territory from opposite sides as the large shadow of the C-5 left the ground an hour after SB-III and headed out of Nevada. Finally, two small blips on his radar told him when the Gulfstreams took off, and they followed the Dead Chicken eastwards.
Chapter 4
The Atlantic
Only the pilots got all the sleep they needed on base in Nevada for the final 24 hours. There was much to do during the night hours. The aircraft was already packed to the brim, the heavier cargo on the floor and the lighter cargo piled on top of that. A C-5 took a lot of stuff to fill up.
Though certainly not the normal procedure of Air Force loading of an aircraft, its gaping holes front and back were filled to capacity. Even inside the vehicles were filled with supplies and suitcases of the new passengers. After that, people sat anywhere they could. The interior of the aircraft began to look like a refugee camp.
Several of the flight crew had wanted Ryan and his family to fly back into space in SB-III’s passenger compartment until he told them that there was only room for the more important returning scientists and engineers. Much of the passenger compartment had electronic equipment strapped down in and around many of the seats. The flight was full. Ryan was going to fly his own Gulfstream out of the country with Mr. and Mrs. Jones, VIN, Mars Noble and Saturn Jones. Martin Brusk, an experienced pilot, would fly Jonesy’s family aircraft with a copilot and Martin’s own family aboard.
The night work on the base slowed as the flight drew closer. The routine didn’t change. The security guards and Ryan’s staff were ordered to stay put on the base, until the flight had left. Ryan hoped that the visitors hadn’t had anything to report back and hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary. He would know if an attack on the base was due while they were in flight.
Nobody thought that there would be an attack on the base while they were in radio contact or still over land. Everybody had agreed that once the C-5 was over water and out of radio communications with the base, only then might an attack happen. The most likely time would be once the C-5 had run out of fuel and Ryan wasn’t around to order reprisals. The American government would class the destruction of the military aircraft as an accident if it happened.
All were sure the President of the United States didn’t want the White House demolished around him, as Ryan’s laser had done to the Banker’s headquarters in Manhattan.
The chamber below ground was still full. Martin’s Tesla was stored, so were the newcomers’ cars and the new girl’s old original Volkswagen beetle soft-top, a ride Ryan had been excited to look over, as he had owned one in Germany when he was in his twenties.
Between the thousands of spacecraft parts and engines were freezers full of meat and storage shelves still full of equipment dotting the entire chamber. Ryan wished he could take it all with him.
All the rare earth metals, gold, platinum, three large tennis-ball-sized uncut diamonds, and the complete list he had offered the U.S. government was now on pallets in one of the hangars ready for pickup by the American troops. Ryan was a man of his word.
The morning of the departure for three aircraft that day was a typical Nevada morning. Several of the America One crew had been seen running around the runway perimeter the last couple of days, and Ryan and VIN had been two of them.
VIN had used his metal legs now for eleven years. Every second year on board America One he had been separated from the machines, and the hybrid lithium batteries were replaced. About the size of two red bricks, these plug-in systems gave him power for about 100 hours of constant exercise, such as walking rapidly, or lifting cargo or mining. That meant that VIN had to plug into the nearest electrical socket, of hundreds around America One, or aboard each spacecraft next to each pilot seat, once every two weeks. While doing heavy exercise as on the asteroids or running around the runway perimeter, he needed a recharge every 6 to 7 days. A charge took twelve hours, and he usually completed it during sleep.
Jonesy, alone with his partner in one of the mining craft, had often told VIN that it was like sleeping with “The Terminator.” Suzi had the same batteries, and now a dozen of Martin Brusk’s latest fourth-generation power packs had been built exactly the same size and could last twice as long as the current third-generation batteries in the metal limbs. Jonesy had wanted to know before liftoff whether when running, if his partner opened his mouth, would his batteries get an added charge? For once Ryan, Martin Brusk and others had erupted in laughter.
The sun’s faint light could just be seen on the eastern horizon, and all five aircraft were out of their hangars and prepared for takeoff. SB-III had the most important cargo aboard, the engineers and mechanics, and it took off first at 5.30 a.m. Because there was room for only eight in the rear cabin and two sitting on the cockpit rear jump seats, four of the engineers would need to go with Martin Brusk. So would Martin’s wife and children. Suzi and her one team member were heading up with Michael and Penny Pitt.
The Dead Chicken had the balance of America One’s new crewmembers: the new families, the German scientist and his new blonde friend, who both seemed to be attracted to each other, and Walls’ family members. Lieutenant Walls said his goodbye to his best pal, Sergeant Meyers, wished him luck, gave him everything he owned, and then thanked the rest of his security detail.
Minutes later SB-I, with the Pitts flying, launched and deafened all further speech, 55 minutes after SB-III.
Mr. and Mrs. Jones, as well as all of the newbies, were awestruck at the precision, speed, and noise of the shuttles. They had been given the opportunity to see the two spaceplanes, readied a mile away and half a mile apart on the launch ramps, and two launches within an hour.
Joseph Jones was never so proud of his son as when, holding his granddaughter’s hand, they watched the first launch from the apron together.
“I will be in command of a shuttle launch soon,” said Saturn to her grandfather once the noise had dissipated. “Mars Noble, Lunar Richmond and I will start training on our flight back to the red planet. Uncle Ryan promised us.”
As SB-I left the ground for the last time, Jonesy and Maggie were already coming over the U.S. on their first pass at 320,000 feet, staying low for the next dozen or so orbits. Allen and Kathy Saunders were 5,000 miles ahead of Jonesy and heading over the eastern horizon 5,000 miles behind America One, which was decreasing altitude to 350,000 feet.
Two hours before SB-III’s takeoff, all the other craft in space, making as large a signature as possible to be seen from Earth, left the blue shield around the mother ship. The idea was to fan out around the globe, making a continuous line of spacecraft, always having two radar images above the American continent at any one time. With the departure of the shuttles, which Ryan had known the U.S. Air Force could do nothing about as they had no aircraft in the vicinity that could catch them, he now had the mother ship, all three shuttles, the two mining craft, and Commander Joot’s Matt craft being seen by Washington, and anybody else who wanted to view the nonstop line of spacecraft orbiting as low as they could.
The three remaining aircraft on base, with the entire base watching, headed eastwards one by one as the sun climbed. The C-5 was first, fully fuelled and close to maximum takeoff weight. To Bob Mathews at the controls of his favorite aircraft, the Dead Chicken felt like a real dead chicken for the first time in his many hours of flying her.
Using as little fuel as possible, and with far more runway than the giant bird ever needed before, he lumbered off the end of the runway with only 500 feet to spare. The crowd on the ground could see the dust rising from the thrust of the jets, as the engines screamed for height over the perimeter fence while flying directly into the sun.
It was a different sight watching the Gulfstreams several minutes later, when the C-5 was just a black speck directly in the sun and still low over the eastern horizon. Even though both aircraft had full fuel tanks and were overloaded by a few percent, they sprang off the runway halfway down, and Martin, who was first, sped away to catch the aircraft in front of him.
Ryan was not in a rush. He could easily catch up to the C-5. Even fully loaded, his Gulfstream could make its way at high altitude across the U.S. and most of the Atlantic. If he throttled back to a slow cruise, he could even make Lisbon, Portugal. The Gulfstream crews had agreed to stay together and set up a refueling stop in Bermuda if they were forced to fly north, then the Azores if anything went wrong on an even more northerly route.
It was first Caracas then the Cape Verde Islands as organized points for refueling if the Dead Chicken were forced onto a more southerly route.
Ryan, once his final takeoff checks were complete, spent a minute at the western edge of the runway. It could be the last time he ever saw his base, the place which had allowed his whole dream to come to fruition. For him, it was a poignant moment. The base still looked beautiful, although changed in many ways from what he had first constructed, but it was an end of an era, and as he pushed the throttles forward, he felt sad and happy at the same time, knowing that all this had been worthwhile.
One of the reasons for all the fuel markers was that Bob Mathews wasn’t in control of the direction his aircraft would fly. It was all up to the U.S. Air Force and the positioning of their refueling tanker.
As far as the Air Force and Washington were concerned, the Dead Chicken couldn’t make Bermuda. A fully loaded C-5 had a 2,400 mile range. Bermuda was 2,800 miles from Las Vegas, and the government’s ace, they thought, was that the C-5 didn’t know its route yet. If they wanted the aircraft to run out of fuel they certainly wouldn’t let it fly over any islands once it left the U.S. East Coast. Ryan had hoped that Washington had forgotten that he only employed the best in the business, and they had long ago given him some of their best pilots.
The whole crew nodded at each other an hour later when their route was finally laid out by control at Andrews Air Force Base. Jonesy won the $1.00 pot. His suggestion about the heading the Air Force would give Bob Mathews was only 2 degrees off.
At 19,000 feet, with everyone inside the cargo hold bundled up and using oxygen masks, and still climbing over northern New Mexico, they were ordered to head directly over Jacksonville, Florida. Jonesy had bet that they would be directed over the South Carolina-Georgia border, straight out to sea where there was nothing but water in front of them. On this heading, they would pass slightly further south of a point directly between Bermuda and the Bahamas, limiting the airstrips possible to be used as an emergency runway.
“Dead Chicken to Gulfstreams. Passing through 21,000 feet, conserving as much fuel as possible. She is flying better now. I hope that tanker is on time. I‘m going to need fuel 200 miles out into the Atlantic, over,” said Bob Mathews so the whole world could hear, as planned.
“Roger that,” said Michael Pitt from SB-I above them, replying as if he were one of the Gulfstream pilots. Penny Pitt next to her husband acknowledged the communication as the second Gulfstream’s pilot. Ryan kept radio silence. So did Martin, as they didn’t want to let on where Ryan was, nor did he want to let anyone know that Martin Brusk was flying the other aircraft. Nobody had seen the crew enter the two smaller aircraft back on base behind closed hangar doors.
Many of the Air Force personnel on base had been told that Ryan was sick in bed and still on the base with a stomach bug.
On the second channel, in about two hours’ time, Bob Mathews could light up the Aussie crews far ahead of them if need be. But for now he had to conserve fuel, slowly climb the aircraft higher as the fuel was used up, and hope that somebody would find him.
Two hours later, over the western area of Georgia, everyone saw a radar shadow take off from somewhere close to Jacksonville, Florida in front of them and begin to head out over the Atlantic, gaining altitude. The C-5 was at 32,000 feet when the tanker called them up.
“Charlie 5, this is Kilo Charlie 46 Tango out of Jacksonville, have you on radar. Climbing up to the following coordinates and will meet you to give you a top-up at 33,000 feet, over.” Bob confirmed the coordinates.
“Two shadows taking off, same airfield, and fighters by the look of it,” said Captain Pete 30 minutes later on the second frequency.
“They are refueling us 100 miles from the edge of my range and it will take at least ten minutes to hook up and begin delivery. That will be 30 miles or less from edge of range, and it could be dark when they begin to refuel us. They are certainly making it tight,” replied Bob. “Not normal protocol.”
“Agreed,” said Jonesy, coming over the horizon for his stint. Bob got on the radio to his Aussie friends who were ready to leave the runway in Caracas, a second tanker was ready in Bermuda and both aircraft had very faintly heard the U.S. messages over their radios.
They maintained radio silence until Bob Mathews could see the tanker about twenty miles ahead of him. By this time, he and the two Gulfstreams were 200 miles from the nearest land, and his range the same. The tanker was behaving perfectly and he still hoped the crew aboard wouldn’t let him down.
“Charlie 5 to Kilo Charlie 46 Tango, 465 knots, have you visual. Charlie 5 ready to hook up, over.”
“Roger that Charlie 5, seven minutes to hook up, we are ready for you, extended and ready at 435 knots, over.”
Everything happened as planned. Bob was only yards away from the hose and about to hook up when a voice came over the radio. “Kilo Charlie 46 Tango, this is Jacksonville, we have orders to abort the refueling, increase speed, bank left once clear and head back to base, over.”
“Kilo Charlie 46 Tango, the Charlie 5 needs fuel desperately, they might not make it back to the coast, request immediate refueling to commence, over.”
“Negative, increase speed, bank left once clear and return to base. You have your orders, out.”
Unbelievingly, Bob listened as the KC-46’s pilots relayed their honest regrets to him, and following orders the tanker increased its distance and slowly banked away to disappear across his left side cockpit windows as the darkness of night began to close in.
“Charlie 5 to Jacksonville, Charlie 5, are we supposed to fly up here on fumes, or a wing and a prayer?”
“Unidentified aircraft, you are out of U.S. airspace. I would suggest the wing and prayer bit. Do not contact us again, out.” As Bob received this, two shadows, F-35 fighters, passed close in front of his aircraft, waggled their wings and sped away. He watched them descend steeply down back toward the U.S. coast now 270 miles behind him.
He smiled. “Why would you ever think Washington would betray us,” he said to his girls, one sitting in the right seat and the other already setting up the transfer of fuel into their tanks from the four bladders in the hold. “I hope Ryan gives the order to Pete up there to blow the Pentagon and the White House to smithereens.”
Ryan was fuming in the Gulfstream, 19,000 feet higher and twenty miles ahead of the lumbering C-5. The rest of the crew were also mad as hell, but Ryan was not ready to fire just yet.
At the exact time the order had been given, Captain Pete had given the order for Ryan’s faithful staff to leave in a bus waiting for them at the front gate and the security guards to hunker down in the Nevada base. They were to go to ground. The Air Force personnel were first herded into the medical center, the door locked, and the men disappeared inside the empty hangars. As the last man entered, he thought he could faintly hear something approaching from Las Vegas.
There were several U-Haul trucks still on base, as well as several vehicles including Wall’s old Wrangler Jeep. They had more than enough transportation to get out. Ryan had made sure that all his crew would get away safely.
“This is the commander of America One to anybody listening in, in Washington,” said Captain Pete, as angry as the others. It could be heard in his tone to all listening around the world on that frequency. “I have given orders to fire on any aircraft or land vehicles entering Astermine’s Nevada base’s 20-mile perimeter. I suggest you stay out, or I have no option but to kill your pilots, and I don’t want to do that.”
“Unidentified caller. This is the Chief of the Air Force. If you fire on any of our aircraft we will have no choice but to destroy your base. Your base is on American soil, and if you attack our aircraft, you will be at war with The United States of America.”
“This is Ryan Richmond,” injected Ryan. “I thought we were already at war. Were you on vacation and missed your attack on me and my spaceship when we arrived back into Earth’s orbit? Remember, you attacked us first, whoever you are; we have a truce, and you have ten seconds before we rain all hell down on you.”
There was no response. He continued on the same frequency. “All United States Air Force pilots, grab your ejector seats, you have five seconds. Captain Pete, Jonesy, what do you have on screens?”
“Eight fighter aircraft, F-22s or 35s, already within our 20 mile barrier, Ryan,” said Captain Pete from above, nobody caring anymore who was listening.
“All Astermine spacecraft over the United States, you have my permission to take them out. Hit the wings or tails. I don’t want any pilots killed.”
Jonesy and Captain Pete, the two lasers above the States, fired from low altitude, and all the U.S. pilots ejected safely seconds later as their aircraft broke up around them.
“Captain, the dome on Capitol Hill. Destroy it. Chief Astronaut, destroy every fighter that gets within 20 miles of our base,” added Ryan, and twenty seconds later Washington’s population began to see the famous dome smoke, begin to break apart and slowly collapse.
Suddenly a vivid blue beam of laser light rose up from Andrews Air Force Base aimed into space. There was nothing Captain Pete could do as it hit his shield within seconds, and the whole shield absorbed the laser energy and began to glow even brighter than ever before. He quickly thanked Maggie Jones in his thoughts for her advice on removing the oxygen.
“Ryan, we have been hit by a massive laser beam, very powerful but causing no damage.”
“Roger, I saw it and got the exact coordinates,” said Jonesy.
The three remaining aircraft heading toward the base broke away, and only the ground transporters kept closing in on the base still several miles away.
“Destroy that area of Andrews Air Force Base, Sierra Bravo III,” said Ryan, and Jonesy got to work.
A second beam of vivid blue light glanced past SB-III less than 100 yards off his starboard bow. The computer got its coordinates a mile south of the first location and Jonesy beat both the areas to pancake level.
Then the Pentagon began to feel the most powerful laser: America One’s firepower. Top floors of the nation’s Defense Headquarters began to take hits and shatter, bricks and mortar shooting out in all directions.
Within ten minutes the firing ceased. The dome atop Capitol Hill was gone. The area directly outside the Oval Office, brick walls, trees and rose bushes were nothing more than smoking wood or rubble. Part of the top floor area of one section of the Pentagon, about twenty offices, was a mess. Eleven fighters were strewn across the desert, seven Abrams tanks still on trailers had holes burnt in them, and the President of the United States of America was cowering behind a secretarial desk screaming for help.
The attack depressed Ryan, now 400 miles out over the Atlantic. He had hit Washington so hard that the U.S. Air Force had forgotten about the three departing aircraft. That was until three fighters took off from the closest base in Florida five minutes later. Immediately, they headed east out over the Atlantic at full throttle. Allen Saunders followed them and spoke to them 100 miles out from the East Coast.
“Unidentified U.S. fighters. As soon as you leave U.S. airspace I will destroy all three of your aircraft, over.”
“General Allen Saunders, Nellis, formerly of the U.S. Air Force, I recognize your voice,” said somebody he didn’t recognize. “You wouldn’t shoot down your own men, would you?”
“Whoever you are, I am no longer a citizen of the United States, as your President informed me. Therefore, as an alien I might as well do what an alien does best. You have ten seconds to turn back or, as my boss so eloquently put it, either hang on to your junk, pilots, or your ejector buttons, or both. I don’t give a shit anymore, and your current politicians and leaders of the armed forces are the worst my old country has ever had to put up with. No wonder the rest of the world hates you guys. And this feed is open, so I hope millions are listening in. You, Mr. President, and you, the heads of the armed forces, you make me sick to my stomach. You guys have three seconds.”
They were ordered not to turn back.
Within a minute, parachutes opened and floated below Allen Saunders, and the radar image of what looked like a helicopter was seen taking off from Jacksonville several minutes later.
“I have 27 minutes of fuel remaining,” said Bob Mathews.
“Hi, Bob. I liked your colleague’s description of the good old political U.S. of A. A bunch of patsies, if you ask us, mate,” said an Australian voice. “We have 70,000 kilos of the best Aussie grade-A jet fuel for you. We also have fighter escort if you Yanks west of us want to tango. Just to remind you, we are over international waters, so beware. Bob, heading in on full throttles, five minutes to hookup, and preparing to extend hose and will be turning in front of you in 90 seconds, over.”
“G’day, mates,” replied Bob. “I have you on radar, currently 490 knots at 33,000 feet.”
An hour later the Aussie tanker turned away from the Dead Chicken. The second tanker, heading southeast from Bermuda, was already 500 miles ahead of Bob, and was ready to top him up for his flight straight into the Sahara.
The United States was now 800 miles behind them. Ryan’s security detail had all left in their chosen vehicles, and the Air Force personnel were still locked up until they got up the courage to escape. So far, Ryan’s plan had worked. The Air Force staff on the airfield had about three hours before they were attacked by their own troops. Several jeeps and Bradleys had just left Creech and were on the way to deliver the base into U.S. hands once again.
“Doug to Bob, do you copy, over?”
“Bob to Doug, a little scratchy but I can hear you, over.”
“Hi Bob, I am at your new site in the Sahara Desert. The U.S., we have been told by locals, left 24 hours ago, and your new base is not nearly complete. They did leave a hangar full of equipment though. It seems they received an order to leave and couldn’t take their supplies. It looks like somebody changed their mind about helping you guys around here late yesterday. The tarmac is about a quarter complete, running directly east to west as you ordered. There are three half-completed hangars, a partially built accommodation area, and I have 500 guys and three aircraft already on the ground working to ready your new base for you. The completed runway is about 2,700 feet long in your language, under 1,000 meters in mine, and 20 feet wide. Fine for your Gulfstreams, but a little short and narrow for your deceased chicken, mate. We managed to squeeze down our heavy C-17s onto the blacktop without a problem. I’m sure a pilot of your caliber can get a bleeding chicken down in the same space?”
“We might not be Americans anymore Doug, but the old USA made these birds mighty tough,” laughed Bob. “I used the entire runway for takeoff back in Nevada to conserve fuel, and I can get this baby down on that short tarmac with room to spare, even though we are fully loaded. Tell your tanker crew I will need 48,000 kilos on the next fill up. I hope they take Amex, and I’ll bring her in with zero fuel weight. I reckon I can stop her in 1,800 feet without blowing the tires. Pilots have landed and taken off C-5s with 500 yard runways since the early days, although those were almost empty of fuel with no cargo.”
“You should do it easy in 1,600 feet,” added Jonesy from above. “Just don’t blow those tires Bob, I’m sure they don’t have any C-5 spares at the local Libyan car repair shops.”
“And Doug, I’ll tell the tanker crew to come in and land behind me on the field. I’ll need to steal what they have left to take off again. I’ll be watching to see how your Aussie pilots can perform short landings and takeoffs,” smiled Bob.
Heading straight down the line of the Tropic of Cancer, the second tanker came up to feed the Dead Chicken. Bets were placed on the landing of the C-5 from all directions.
The total flight distance from Nevada to the Pig’s Snout was 7,450 miles. Just in range for Martin flying Jonesy’s aircraft, but out of range for Ryan’s. Three hours before Bob Mathews saw the second tanker come into view, Ryan had diverted northwest to the Azores to refuel. It was touch and go whether the older Gulfstream 500 would have made Lisbon, Portugal, and now it didn’t matter how long they took to reach the Sahara. They were out of danger.
The C-5 had flown through a day, a night, and a second day, and the sun was now behind them as their systems showed the aircraft fifty miles west of the new airfield. Bob had brought the aircraft down to 12,000 feet a couple of hours earlier. The crewmembers in the rear had been on oxygen for twelve hours now, and there wasn’t any need to fly high and cold. In warmer air, and with the oxygen masks put away, his crew flew on, cruising through the turbulence of the desert below them stretching as far as the eye could see in all directions. Bob had been asleep in one of the loadmaster’s chairs for four hours when his crew woke him.
“Descending through 11,000 feet, forty miles from touchdown, about fifty minutes to an hour of daylight left,” said Beth.
“Thanks, Beth,” replied Bob. He headed straight for the coffee machine, and then into the left seat for landing.
“Bob to Doug, have the crater dead ahead. Airfield not yet in sight, am descending through 9,000 feet. What do I need to know, over?”
“Runway altitude, 2,220 ASL. Tarmac length, 2,770 feet. Temperature, 33 degrees Celsius, about 92 Fahrenheit, wind absolutely zero. Zero hills or ground rises within five miles, only that volcanic crater thirty miles west, the one you are about to head over. I suggest you come straight in on long final, new runway nine,” said a Royal Australian Air Force pilot.
“Roger that, heading low and directly over the volcanic crater, and we are dropping through 6,100 feet,” replied Bob.
One of the girls climbed down to the cargo bay, got the crew in the rear to use the seatbelts or to tie themselves down, telling them that the landing will be short and sweet, and headed back up into the cockpit.
Five minutes later, Bob could see the short runway area ten miles ahead. As he closed, it was certainly short, and he could see three C-17s on the side of the short strip and getting closer. Jonesy’s Gulfstream was also parked on the dirt at the side of the runway, next to three half-built buildings.
He set up the giant bird for an extremely short landing he hadn’t practiced for many years. Jonesy offered advice from above, until Bob kindly asked him to get off the air.
Like a floating bird, the aircraft came in. Several dozen men manning tarmac equipment well off the blacktop watched as the rear tires smoked just yards from the beginning of the tarmac. Bob let the nose come down, then hit full engine reverse thrust, opening the air brakes to maximum and pushing the tire brakes as hard as he dared.
The C-5 could have landed on dirt. It was designed to use dirty runways, but not fully loaded, and any weak ground could have given way under the excessive weight.
Without popping one tire, the aircraft came to a halt, and Bob, with his eyes, measured the runway still remaining ahead of him.
“I reckon about 1,550 feet,” said Jonesy, now directly above the runway and looking through SB-III’s powerful cameras.
“A little better than I expected, Jonesy. You crapping about blown tires cost me at least 150 extra feet,” laughed Bob, relieved that the aircraft was in one piece. He loved his Dead Chicken. His right-seat crewmember turned the aircraft, blowing dust as she brought it around 180 degrees. There was a lot of room, and the copilot returned the massive plane to the narrow blacktop to taxi back to where the parking area was.
Captain Pete told Ryan, staying overnight in the Azores, of Bob’s successful landing an hour later. Ryan decided to celebrate with a fine dinner with Portuguese wines. There was no rush anymore. He just hoped that the American forces now on his base would not find his underground cavern. At least he had his important crew and supplies safe on this side of the planet. He hadn’t achieved Martin Brusk’s desire for two container ships yet, but he could do that once again from space, and when he had time. On Ryan’s suggestion, Martin had already told his employees to halt production, container everything and be prepared to move.
Michael Pitt, above in SB-I, had watched as the U.S. forces attacked the Nevada base five hours earlier, and had gone in weapons blazing. He reported that they hadn’t managed to kill any of their own colleagues. Air Force One had just taken off in the direction of Nevada, and so had several small jets from Nellis Air Force Base, Creech airfield, the NSA headquarters in California, and to Captain Pete thirty minutes later, the CIA and FBI out of Langley and California.
All Ryan’s security forces and staff were long gone, travelling home with their memories. They had been paid well over the years, and did not need payment from Astermine anymore. They all just did what Ryan asked for, for the hell of it.
Chapter 5
The Sahara
Ryan landed on the short runway twelve hours later. He was surprised to see how hard and fast the couple hundred Australians were working on the runway and buildings. The living quarters would be habitable within 72 hours.
He had studied the Pig’s Snout, flying over it on long final runs into his new base, and it looked like a steep volcanic crater, towering up at least 3,000 feet above them. He had studied it for a couple of minutes. Inside it indeed looked like the snout of a pig. It wasn’t massive, but being the only blemish on the horizon in all directions, certainly stood out tall and strong.
Twenty minutes after Ryan landed, an Australian C-17 arrived with more supplies. Food and water and materials for the tarmac-making equipment to lay more runway. Only the shuttles coming in to land needed the complete 10,000 feet of blacktop. Taking off vertically, they didn’t need more than a 30-foot-square piece. Only Commander Joot’s craft used vertical landing capabilities, and nobody, including the commander, knew how his aircraft actually worked. He was only instructed in flying the machine.
Bob told Ryan after landing that his Australian contact Doug, who was about to fly in for the second time on the next day’s flight, had ordered a C-17 once a day out of Perth with 40 tons of bitumen cement for black asphalt. With ten percent of the mix being flown in, and the balance in abundance in the desert around them – small stones and sand – the 10,000 foot runway would take a few more weeks to complete. The C-17s, with a payload of 55 tons out of a maximum of 85 tons, only needed one air refueling between Perth and the new runway, a flight distance of 7,550 miles. The most important part for the mix, water, had still not been found in the area, and 12 tons of the C-17’s daily cargo were pallets of the valuable liquid. A couple of tons of each load was building equipment for the hangars, accommodations, and food for the men.
The supplies for Ryan’s whole crew had been removed from the C-5. Sleeping bags on cots were strewn around underneath the aircraft’s wings for their second night, and Ryan’s first. With its open-walled roof hangar nearing completion, the Dead Chicken could move into its cool daytime desert shade in about 48 hours’ time.
A small Libyan jet arrived just before nightfall. On board was somebody Ryan had hoped to meet: his friend, the much older-looking former President of the United States, who had been on his side all along. The former President arrived with the new Libyan leader.
Ryan and all the crew were introduced to the leader of their new country. A fresh overnight camp was made beneath the massive wings of the Dead Chicken for the VIPs with two small but luxurious tents coming out of the Libyan jet’s small hold. Ryan noticed that these guys certainly knew how to live well in the desert.
The Australians had even brought along a few tons of firewood, and with good Aussie beer and wines, over 300 people celebrated a fine starlit night in the desert. There were bottles of cold liquid aplenty, and two freezers of Ryan’s had been left in the shade that whole day, open and defrosting. Ryan wanted to know if the prime ten-year old vintage beef was still good. It was, and excellent, and only the Libyan leader, his two bodyguards and two pilots did not drink any alcohol.
For Ryan, it was the first time he had enjoyed being back on Earth. For the children, who had never seen such desert beauty, it was certainly a night to remember.
Saturn Jones told Mars Noble, Lunar and Pluto Richmond that someday she would return from Mars to see more of this beautiful planet and enjoy its wonders. The young Noble and the Richmond daughters agreed. It was certainly a beautiful sight. They were chatting in the group of youngsters, and with the young new recruits, the Martians getting as much information as they could out of the new kids about Earth. The Earth children were doing their best to get the information about their new home they hadn’t seen yet, but much was still confidential.
The large fires, meat sizzling on “barbies” the Aussies had brought, the beautiful black and starry night, and being able to see their friends and crewmembers glint across the sky high above them every few minutes made this night memorable for all. Captain Pete certainly wasn’t letting down his guard in orbit, and for Ryan and all the others, there was nothing to see moving up in space except for his own craft.
After a cool night’s sleep, the sun came up far earlier than in Nevada. Captain Pete radioed in at dawn to say that there were no troop movements within 1,000 miles of them, and he hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary anywhere. All the aircraft had just left the Nevada base and it looked desolate and empty of people once again. Ryan breathed a sigh of relief.
After breakfast, the runway crew got back to work, the building crews started work to complete the hangar, and Ryan had a private meeting with the new leader of Libya.
What actually had surprised Ryan after landing in Nevada a week earlier was that diamonds were still as valuable as when he left. He had thought that the tons of asteroid diamonds brought in from DX2014 a decade earlier would have devalued the diamond price to next to nothing. It wasn’t so, and all he could think of was that much of the supply sold into Amsterdam and Antwerp had been sent to cutters in Israel, had maybe stayed in Israel, and possibly was used for other purposes. Now was time to visit that area of the world, and Israel wasn’t that far away anymore, off to the northeast.
The meeting with the Libyan leader wasn’t long, only forty minutes, but Ryan purchased the 600 square miles of mostly empty desert around the crater for twenty uncut diamonds, 100 kilos of gold and the same amount of platinum. The diamonds were all smaller than the one he had given the American government, with each most probably worth about half of the billion dollars the American diamond was worth once cut. If it was an overpayment for nothing more than a lot of sand and one volcanic crater, he didn’t mind. Monetary value meant little to him anymore.
Astermine, Ryan’s international company, was given the right to do whatever he wanted with the land. He could even make a new country, and the Libyans offered military air and land protection around his area. Ryan did mention to the leader though, that destruction would befall any international aircraft entering his new airspace without permission, and the leader immediately understood. It wouldn’t be his aircraft, unless permission had been granted first. Now his base had a 150 mile safety barrier around it, not the mere twenty miles of Nevada.
The Libyan jet took off with its precious cargo. Ryan had an official bill of sale, even with melted red wax seal on it, and his old friend the former President had decided to stay to watch any new proceedings. Canada was a great place, he said, but he needed a vacation, a long warm one.
Ryan still didn’t want to let out the news of the Matts. His crew had been cautioned to remain silent about why they were here, as he didn’t want to create interest in the Pig’s Snout yet.
That day, the C-17 arrived with forty tons of asphalt cement, a small caterpillar earthmover, a few tons of water and fresh fruit and vegetables. Ryan had organized trucks of water from the nearest supply with the Libyan leader. There was a large Libyan army base with a large underground water supply 200 miles to the north, along the same road the airstrip was being built, and permission had been given for the water trucks to enter.
Doug, the Australian Premier, arrived with the day’s flight, and Ryan was surprised that his old friend the former President knew Doug well and had met him on several occasions. He was after all Australia’s Prime Minister.
It was getting hot in the desert, all this brass coming in from all directions, and again that night a second barbeque was held, this time with fresh Australian beef and red and white wines cooled to perfection. Of course most of the Aussies drank beer, gallons of the stuff, and Ryan really felt sorry for poor Jonesy currently orbiting Earth and missing all this spontaneous partying.
Ryan had thanked Doug for his help, gave the man the same amounts of gold and diamonds he had given the Libyan leader, and an added potion of rare earth metals, and over a good meal and drinks in the beautiful desert the men, including Bob Mathews and Martin Brusk, talked business.
“What do you think is the most likely scenario for this planet for the next century?” asked Ryan of the Prime Minister. The man thought for several moments before replying.
“Ryan, that is sure a big question. I would like to answer it and then let your former President answer it as well. Maybe he has a different opinion. Then I think it should be left open for anybody to give their views. I think your children should be part of this discussion, or argument. You never know, they might be the ones to return to this blue planet one day.” The children were told to suspend their discussions and move toward the adult’s fire.
Once all were congregated with over a hundred people, Ryan asked the younger members to just listen and let the Prime Minister continue. Many of the Aussie crew weren’t that interested in world affairs and went to bed. They had done a hard day’s work, and they had another hard day in the morning.
The Prime Minister began. “I will be short. The biggest threat to this planet is politics from the three most powerful nations on the planet. How we haven’t had World War Three, I just don’t know. The U.S., China and Russia are now alienated, sorry for the pun Ryan, from us, and much of the rest of the world. Without world trade, nobody can feed the current population of Earth. This has been seen by drastic population reductions in the old Third World countries. We believe that Earth’s population has decreased by one billion in the last ten years, especially in countries who had difficulty in feeding its own before 2015. Desert, lack of water, overworked farms and soil, and several other factors, mostly natural, have decreased many country’s populations. For example, many areas of Africa below the Sahara.
“We in Australia were lucky, for we had enough virgin land to increase farming, and we have doubled our output in the last decade. Not only do we feed our own population, but we help feed the population of countries around us. These cannot often pay cash for what we give them, and repay us with barter. Ninety percent of the world’s large ships have been mothballed or destroyed by other countries, mainly the “Big Bad Three” we call them, or North Korea or Iran, and for the last six or so years only cargo vessels of less than 5,000 tons have managed to slip across the oceans unseen. Much like in World War Two in the North Atlantic, there are so many of these smaller, faster ships that it is impossible to destroy all of them.
“Because all the larger cargo vessels became useless, over twenty shipbuilding countries now produce these smaller 4- to 5,000-ton, low in the water, powerful vessels with cruising speeds of over 20 knots. We in Australia send out 200 of these vessels every month, containing a combined one million tons of food, to countries within 1,000 miles of us. In return we get the ships back carrying other supplies as payment. Canada, five countries in South America, three countries in Asia, Australia, New Zealand, the whole of Indonesia, and seven countries in the Middle East, our partners, do the same. Many countries cannot provide food. The Middle Eastern countries, of which Libya is one of them, supply us crude oil for transportation in return for frozen food and produce.” The Prime Minister took a swig of his beer.
“Sounds like a good partnership,” said Ryan.
“An excellent system, Ryan. Money is hardly important anymore, and we still deliver to small, high density places, even though their returns are minimal. Many of the large and small islands around the southern hemisphere are pretty much self-sufficient in food, but need fuel, and this makes our seven countries in the Middle East so important. Australia and Canada have abundant quantities of coal and natural gas, and both countries now have several dozen new natural gas container ships on the high seas. The reason I am describing these important factors first, is that the raw oil and coal supplies in the “Big Bad Three” countries are diminishing, and they will start looking further afield for new sources of raw materials within five to ten years. Then the bullying is about to start all over again, so we are preparing for this.”
“Electric cars and hybrid ships are the way to go,” added Martin Brusk.
“Are they thinking of joining up against you and your alliance?” Ryan asked, looking at his old friend.
“We have heard rumors between the U.S. and China, but you know from a decade ago that has about as much chance as Israel and Iran holding hands, or South and North Korea,” said the former President. The Aussie Prime Minister nodded at all the suggestions.
“We are trying our best to work with Iran,” continued the Prime Minister. “Also the rest of the Middle East and Egypt, but Iran is extremely important to us. They dislike the U.S. especially, and we have a better chance of bringing them into our ever-growing alliance once things get tough. All three of the bad countries can produce enough food to supply large populations. Our assessment of population levels in these countries is only about 65 percent of the population of 2015. We know that the population has decreased in the U.S., Russia is very quiet, has its own oil reserves, has attacked and taken control of several of its neighbors again, and China is much the same. Trouble, from stress and lack of quality leadership from these bad countries, will rear its ugly head within the next decade. Ryan, you did us all a favor destroying the laser cubes above us in space. Attacks down here on Earth in the past two weeks have been reduced by 95 percent. Only submarines are now destroying shipping, and there are only a couple hundred of those remaining. Many of the latest vessels out there are our submarine hunters, new fast vessels with the most modern Israeli underwater listening equipment. To date, we have destroyed several dozen submarines. We don’t know from which countries, but their numbers are lessening.”
“A sort of secret underwater war,” added the former President.
“We can’t help you with submarines,” added Ryan, “but we could return and clear space of any enemy lasers every couple of years or so.”
“I was hoping you would say that,” said the Prime Minister. “Would you and your bases out there, wherever they are, like to join our alliance? We don’t know, and cannot fathom, how you and your spaceships got through the blockage up there in space and destroyed thousands of those deadly laser drones. We haven’t gone that route. Could you share your latest inventions and systems of protection with us? We would be forever grateful.”
Ryan thought about the offer, and thought about divulging his secret protection shields. They wouldn’t be of any use to anybody. Nobody could manufacture them; even he couldn’t, and he didn’t have any spare. Maybe the Pig’s Snout might give up its treasures, and then it might be possible to aid the alliance, but his sixth sense told him not to. There just didn’t seem to be any benefit to either side.
“I thank you for your offer, Prime Minister, but we are not yet organized or prepared to give up ideas we have not yet perfected, and since it is difficult to communicate between planets with no satellites in Earth orbits, I think that you need to renew the offer of alliance once my crew and I return in the near future. I believe that once Earth can communicate with us out there, then peace on Earth might have prevailed down here, and then we will return to discuss how we can help this planet. Until then, I cannot help you, but I can tell you this. These new systems are our only defense. If I give anybody this technology, it could be stolen and end up in the wrong hands. For the present, they are our only means of survival out there, and I would like to keep it that way.”
“I totally understand,” replied the Prime Minister sadly. “It was worth a try. My mother always told me that the answer is no until you actually ask the question. Then at worst, you have a 50/50 chance of getting a yes. I understand, and I’m sure I would have given the same answer if I were in your shoes. To get back to my suggestion on the future of this planet: in the next decade, my government believes that a war is inevitable. We in the alliance are already powerful enough to stop one major country, thanks to Israel and its latest defense systems we all have. Two of the Big Bad Three countries, or all three in unison, could be much more dangerous, but only time and our modernization will tell. Keeping space clear of projectiles and lasers will certainly help our alliance countries, and I hope you will fly to Israel and speak with our friends there. As usual, most of our most modern weapons of attack and defense come out of that small country, and without Israel, we would certainly be a far weaker alliance. I think I have covered my end: the southern hemisphere’s side of plain thinking and speaking.”
“The Canadian government believes much the same,” continued the U.S. former President. “Because I am now a citizen of Canada, I will speak on the Canadian government’s behalf. Funny, my third daughter, born there ten years ago, wants to be Premier one day. Maybe she will be. Canada actually supplies Alaska with produce, and sometimes Hawaii. The United States of America has closed itself down to its own borders. Until we received the first anti-submarine ships from Israel three years ago, U.S. submarines were destroying some of our shipping. The cubes above were destroying more. Our supply ships, much like all the others around the world, are now totally unmanned, and have been for a couple of years now. Once we realized that it might be American submarines or cubes hitting our ships, and after losing nearly a thousand good Canadian men and women, the country quickly changed its supply movements to unmanned vessels.
“The latest supply ships are now multitaskers with anti-submarine capabilities and Iron Dome systems aboard to destroy incoming missiles from space. Of course lasers cannot be neutralized, and thanks to you that problem is abated until you leave. However, I believe that within two weeks after your departure, Low Earth Orbit will be filled with dozens of cubes destroying each other and anything they can pinpoint on the oceans. We can’t do a thing against bombardment from space, Ryan. Maybe you can come up with an idea before you leave? How you managed to come through these attacks of thousands of Piranha fish up there, I just don’t know.”
Over the next hour, Martin Brusk explained his ideas. He was fresh out of the U.S., and because the continents had only unreliable communications, the Australian Prime Minister was especially interested in what he had to say.
Martin agreed with what had already been said, although he reckoned that American oil would last another decade, even more. His company had over one million electric cars on the road. Other electric car companies had about the same number. The airlines weren’t flying anymore. He believed that the government had destroyed the airlines to allocate more oil reserves to the Armed Forces. He explained that the U.S. military was still a well-oiled, gas-guzzling defense system, and would be for some time. As far as attacking other countries, there was good news for some, and not good news for others, as he described the current U.S. forces. All of the Big Bad Three had neglected fielding new conventional weapons systems for the last decade. Only NASA in the States was given unlimited funds to build cubes for space. What was going on in space defense in the other two countries, he didn’t know. Now, every piece of material in space, including years of manufacture, design and stealth, had been destroyed by Ryan’s return, and would certainly make all three of the countries as mad as hell. A decade of space research and laser development now all up in smoke due to Astermine’s one spaceship.
“You and your crew will never be safe on Earth,” Martin continued. “You possess secrets to far more powerful weapons and better defense systems than anybody here.”
Ryan interrupted Martin, explaining the new weapon that Jonesy had seen; the powerful blue laser beam fired out of Andrews Air Force Base less than 48 hours earlier. Everybody looked at him puzzled. Ryan then realized that nobody in the group knew about the new U.S. laser weapon.
“Even so,” continued Martin after a quick discussion on the news Ryan had just given them, “I assume this new U.S. laser didn’t destroy any ship of yours, so listen to me. I believe that all three of the Big Bad Three are planning to conquer or destroy you. Ryan, until the political philosophies of these countries change for the better, you are these countries’ number one most hated enemy. Only our new alliance can protect you here on Earth, and naturally your own spaceships from above. But I bet you your largest diamond that nobody can see or warn you about a small group of special operations forces creeping across the desert to kidnap or kill you, and when they do, then our alliance has lost its battle before it is even started.”
There was a deathly silence while Ryan thought about what Martin had said.
“I’m sure my Head of Security, VIN Noble, could set up something,” Ryan replied to Martin directly. “I think my protection, while I am here, could be increased by our friends the Israelis if I ask them, as the Prime Minister said. For decades they have developed equipment to watch the desert around their borders. Even before we left a decade ago, and on my last visit to the Middle East, I met with several high-ranking Israelis in a third country. It was actually when I was picking up my Plutonium-238 from my Russian friends at the time. Israel offered me protection then, in return for favors. They wanted a spaceship of their own. They already had spy satellites, I believe some of the first up there. Their Iron Dome systems needed satellite guidance twelve years ago. I believed that a spaceship up there would have given them more accurate guidance and a possible defense or attack platform. Unfortunately, I never was able to help them with a spaceship. Now it wouldn’t matter, I suppose. Currently their defense systems are all controlled from inside Earth’s atmosphere.
“I want to head over to Israel ASAP, Mr. Prime Minister, before my shuttles are able to return onto this new 10,000-foot runway. More protection up there gives me and my crew complete safety for now. Also, Mr. Prime Minister, once the runway is complete and your fantastic team of builders are out of here, I will expect 100 percent privacy on my airfield. Mr. President, Martin, and anybody listening in we don’t know about, this 600 square mile facility will be off limits to everybody, even you the Australians, the Israelis, even the Libyans themselves. That is why I want to travel to Israel, to warn them that I will have no preapproved allies for the time being, and anybody who enters my airspace without my permission will never be an ally of mine. Ask my old buddy Bill Withers, former Head of NASA.”
Ryan stopped and waited for the Head of State to answer. The Australian Prime Minister reluctantly agreed to Ryan’s terms.
“Prime Minister, I appreciate your offer to set up a base in your country. The reason I decline your offer is because I believe that such a move will make any future negotiations among all countries more difficult, if I am seen to favor one side. I don’t mind clearing space of weapons every now and again, but joining one side here on Earth is of no interest to me at the moment. I now consider myself a Martian. Whatever you think of me is your own opinion, and I believe many of my crew are beginning to think along the same lines as I am. It was a shock to me to find out how many of my crew did not want to return to Earth, not even to see and feel this beautiful desert at night, and to eat only the best food and drink with good friends. My goal for a long time now was to build the first human outpost in space, and joining particular sides here on Earth doesn’t factor into that right now. Protecting my family and my crew down here on Earth is important, and I will appreciate all the help offered.
“My plan of action is to stay here and do what I have to do. I have promised my crew on Mars that we will be back in about ten months’ time. America One leaves Earth’s orbit in about six weeks to two months. That gives me about a month or more with my crew down here once the runway is complete to work on ideas and to prepare for our departure. Some of us will never see Earth again. I hope some will; maybe our children listening to our conversation here tonight. These children are our future space pioneers, and when the time comes, they will take over from me and my aging crew, the first generation. These children, Mr. Prime Minister, Mr. President, our “NextGen” as we call them, will be our negotiators of the future. And our NextGen leader is hopefully sitting here listening to this discussion right now. I pray that Earth is in better condition when he or she returns than the political Homo sapiens have made it now.”
Many of the adults sitting around the dying fire looked at the several children and wondered who would be the next Ryan Richmond.
“I see that many are getting tired. I would like to leave for Tel Aviv in a day or so. Who would like to travel with me?” Ryan looked at the children and wondered who would lead next. He hoped that “The Martian Club Retreat” would survive that long.
Naturally Mars Noble and several of the kids shot their arms up. Ryan smiled.
“I would like to join you,” said Martin Brusk. “As you know, my family came from Israel generations ago. It’s a good country to set up a new car plant. They have a lot of sunlight there.”
The former President said that he could travel with them and open up dialogue, and so did the Australian Prime Minister. Ryan wanted several of the kids to go along to evaluate the current predicament, and it would certainly help them to make the correct decisions when they had the reins of control. He suggested a few jet fighters to ride shotgun.
It was time to bed down for the night as the desert chill crept across the bare ground.
During the next two days, the increasing supplies of bitumen arrived daily. Captain Pete allowed the first dozen Libyan military trucks into the new restricted zone, and thousands of gallons of valuable water was delivered for laying tarmac.
Another two paving machines arrived the next day, with even more asphalt equipment and the final needs to complete the hangars on two extra C-17s. Bob Mathews reckoned that the Aussie air-refueling tankers over the Indian Ocean were working long hours keeping the aircraft flying.
On the second day, an extra C-17 landed, bringing in furniture, cooking stoves, freezers, and everything Ryan’s crew needed to live out in the desert.
Captain Pete, Jonesy, Allen Saunders and Michael Pitt, though flying continuously, hadn’t seen any unauthorized movement on the North African continent as the C-17 aircraft loads increased.
High above the new base and orbiting as low as possible, VIN and Captain Pete on the bridge were working out methods to keep the crew on the ground safe, but as Martin had said, there was no way the orbiting craft could see a stick of four or five men wearing desert camouflage in Ryan’s land and on foot heading toward the base. Without heat signatures from any vehicles, it would take any attackers about a week to travel across the 150 miles of desert, and they would have to cross the rest of Libya first. Commander Joot’s old Matt base was as perfect a location as any to keep secure.
VIN’s suggestion at one of the briefings was to use the airfield as a decoy starting in about two weeks’ time. That shocked Ryan, but slowly he understood why. VIN explained to him why making this base was to be a total waste of time, money and energy on behalf of the Australian government. It would certainly become a large and irresistible target for anybody wanting to stop his spacecraft movements, thinking that they could halt him supplying America One in space.
To the former Force Recon lieutenant, he was earning his pay as Head of Security, and his plans were deeply thought out. As Jonesy and Allen Saunders said, they were for the safety of all down on the planet. The team discussing safety up in America One were even worried about Ryan flying into Israel. What happened if that country took Ryan captive to force all he knew out of him? As VIN added, if he were head of the Mossad, he would want to do the same.
Ryan laughed, but finally agreed with VIN, stating that he couldn’t tell them anything about the Matt technology. Even Commander Joot didn’t yet know how their shields worked.
No shuttle reentries were possible until the runway was completed. Ryan still reckoned that the three shuttles should reenter only once to carry up the growing cargo of supplies needed, and the two Matt craft were going to enter Earth’s atmosphere as soon as the Australians were off Ryan’s land.
Everyone in discussing the security of the base and learning the problems facing them agreed that the America One crew should all move into the protection of the volcanic crater and off the airfield immediately.
At a thousand feet higher than the surrounding area, the chance of a surprise attack on the crater was reduced considerably. The only problem was that the shuttles had never been designed for a vertical landing on Earth. The pull of gravity was just too strong. Commander Joot’s spacecraft could do a vertical landing, though, and his craft had the same cargo limit as the shuttles: two tons.
“If need be,” VIN told Ryan, “the shuttles have to stay in space if the crew on the ground were attacked, and the security personnel down here, six of them including Lieutenant Walls, could hold the crater with only the Matt craft landing in and out of the crater vertically.”
Ryan ordered Jonesy and Allen Saunders to be given flight instruction by Commander Joot, and a very proud and excited Elder Roo took part in the training.
It was time to fly into Israel, and the next day, several Australian F-15s came in to land with what seemed every air tanker the Royal Australian Air Force had, and they would act as flight cover for the four civilian jets once refueled.
An hour before dawn, with Ryan’s crew now accustomed to the new time zone, the military and civilian jets took off from the rapidly growing 6,000 foot runway. Another week and it would be finished. It was a shame, as all the work going into the runway would be wasted if the shuttles never used it. There were already 20 tons of supplies waiting at the airfield to get into space and growing, and Commander Joot’s two craft would need a minimum of five reentries per craft to lift the current supplies up into space.
Both VIN and Captain Pete reckoned that as soon as any new flights arrived down on Earth from space, only then would any attacks on the new airfield take place. It would take a minimum of seven days for enemy soldiers to walk over the desert, and calculating at least two days to load and refuel the Matt craft on Earth, they might be able to get the entire cargo into orbit before any attack.
There was no other way to get supplies or crew up there safely once an attack was started. Ground missiles by the thousands might be launched from several countries at incoming or outgoing craft once open aggression began, and Ryan asked the former President to organize Canadian fighters and troops to set up bases just outside the southern borders of Ryan’s land. The ex-President was to return to Canada once the Israeli meeting was over.
Even though Ryan had turned down joining the alliance, the Australians offered troops to patrol for any possible movements of soldiers entering the new perimeter from the south.
Ryan then sent a message asking the Libyan government for a couple of hundred troops, desert vehicles and aircraft to make an outer perimeter on his border with them. That would give the America One crew at least a week before soldiers who might try to sneak through the desert could attack the base. It was surprising what he could purchase for diamonds or gold, and he had plenty of that.
VIN knew an attack would come. The only question was how much time they would have, and how much work could be completed digging out the Matt base before things became hot.
Ryan asked for heavy-lift helicopters. Unfortunately, it was too far for Australian and Canadian helicopters, and they were all too large to be airlifted. Libya had one they could loan him, and Israel could help.
Chapter 6
Israel
The flight of nearly a dozen aircraft was already expected in Israel as they took off one by one starting at dawn. The four civilian jets headed out first, and then the F-15s ten minutes later for the 500-mile flight to the southern border of Israel, heading in directly up the Red Sea and over Eilat. The air tankers would then take off and refuel the fighters over the Red Sea until the civilian aircraft returned four hours later on their return flight. The meeting had been arranged at a large Israeli Air Force Base several miles west of Be’er Sheva.
Kathy and Ryan flew their own aircraft. Martin Brusk and Bob Mathews flew Jonesy’s Gulfstream, much to the frustration of the chief astronaut, who had realized that fishing might not be on the schedule in the near future. Seven of the space children flew in the two jets while the rest of the America One crew stayed behind. The U.S. former President flew in the jet loaned to him by the Canadian government, and the Aussie Prime Minister in his. The Libyan Head of State, also a friend of Israel, flew into the aircraft formation halfway to the border with two of his country’s F-15s joining the others.
The F-15s left the civilian aircraft at the border when several Israeli F-22 Raptors took over duty, and twenty minutes later the military airfield was abuzz with civilian jets.
“Shalom, Ryan,” said a longtime friend of his, one of the people he had met many years earlier. They hugged. He was the only person Ryan recognized out of the twenty or so men and women there to greet them. “You and your crew are safe in our country. You have my word.”
“Thank you,” Ryan replied, and he was introduced to the others. He was surprised to be introduced to the country’s top military leader, a woman about his age. While not bad looking, she appeared dangerous as a rattlesnake. Many ministers were there, as were several heads of the military departments.
His friend was now chief assistant to the country’s Prime Minister, a young man several years younger than he, and because this was a secret meeting, there was no fanfare for so many heads or former heads of state meeting together. Everyone seemed friendly, and once all were introduced including the children, they were led into a large conference room with one table and three dozen chairs around it. As there was not enough room, the kids sat along the sides of the room.
Ryan had been happy to see four Israeli children introduced to his NextGens, and they seemed to be getting along.
Coffee was served, then plates of orange and lemon baklava, and after twenty minutes the meeting came to order, and the guests were welcomed by Ryan’s friend who seemed to be the spokesman. Everyone at the table was introduced, even the children. Kathy, Ryan, and their two daughters Lunar and Pluto, on their best behavior and as usual sitting with Mars Noble and Saturn Jones, stood up and bowed as they were introduced, and all the kids had been warned to behave before the flight. To Kathy Richmond, her girls were growing up, as were the other two. Dressed in new clothes from the supplies brought in from Las Vegas, they certainly didn’t look like space adventurers, and she decided that when time allowed, they would have a new space uniform for America One.
Then the Prime Minister of Israel stood up to give his message. As the man began, her mind went over all the uniforms she had seen on television. None seemed perfect. Too flashy, even the ones from Star Trek and Star Wars, except for the simple black uniforms of Darth Vader’s crew. Her old Air Force blue had always been popular, and now that she was in the lands of cotton, maybe it was time to dress the crew.
While Kathy pondered, the Prime Minister thanked the dignitaries and the America One crew for attending, laid out what Israel had achieved by helping world peace for the last decade, and stated the country’s future actions if there was war in the Middle East.
“As many of you know,” the man said, “we in Israel have fought wars for our entire history. Maybe it’s our legacy to stay on Earth, but for hundreds of years we have always been prepared to defend our land and its people. We are still in that position today. Our government believes that we are and will remain in the forefront of technology, and that our small country will always survive. The world is at a crossroads, as it always is. New alliances are springing up, equalizing older powerhouses and keeping world order as they always have done. We have built and sold the latest defense equipment to many countries to protect themselves from others. Some appreciated the technology, but others let us down by not keeping their side of the bargain, which shows us how thin their governments and defenses really are. In today’s world it is the cleverest who survive. Mr. Richmond, this country believes that you and your crew are survivors. Welcome to the Land of Zion, and I now open this meeting for one hour of mutual discussion on how we can help each other, before I have a few words in private with Mr. Richmond.”
For the next hour, questions and answers flew over the long table, many directed toward Ryan. For the Israelis, having so many visitors at once from around the world was enlightening. To Ryan, it seemed that many of these people had never met, or had not spoken to each other for some time. Martin Brusk was welcomed as a long lost friend, an entrepreneur, and was offered assistance to set up a plant in the country. The Australian Prime Minister had several questions for the Israeli Prime Minister, who had in turn questions for the U.S. former President.
Ryan did not answer several questions about his new base, except to ask if the military departments could offer him detection equipment to repel human invaders. A couple of the generals smiled. Only when the hour was at an end did the questions cut closer to the bone. Ryan was invited into a second, smaller room, and sat with the Israeli Prime Minister. Both men said nothing until the door was closed.
“Mr. Richmond, I did some homework on your family heritage. Did you know that your father’s grandfather left this area, Eilat to be precise, for America at the end of the First World War In 1919?”
“Yes, my father told me of my great grandfather’s move to New York, and then Chicago in 1921,” replied Ryan. “My grandfather saw the growth in the job market in Las Vegas during the Second World War in 1942 and moved to Henderson, Nevada. Not a religious man, and very poor, he raised us outside the Jewish faith. My grandfather married an American woman, a Presbyterian, as did my father. My mother was Baptist, and I feel that our Jewish faith got lost somewhere more than half a century ago.”
The Israeli Prime Minister said, “So unfortunate, that this country has lost so many good people over the last century. The world is certainly a melting pot, and one day we might all disappear into its brew. Until then, some of us will resist the invitation. Mr. Richmond, how can we help each other?”
Ryan was prepared for this question. “Mr. Prime Minister. I cannot help you with what you probably want from me and my crew,” he began carefully. “On our journey, we have seen and found many miraculous things. I wouldn’t believe what you would describe to me, if you were in my shoes. So I will not describe what we have found, as we don’t even understand how the cosmos works yet. So, how can I explain it to you? Can you understand that?”
“If you and the best scientists in the world cannot understand your new ideas, then I certainly wouldn’t,” smiled the man in return.
“Exactly,” replied Ryan. “And my situation is that when we do begin to learn about our new ideas, then many down here will kill me and my crew to get them. That is the one and only reason that I do not want to subject the world to technology that is not possible in our science books and journals.”
“So you have found new technology?” the Prime Minister asked carefully.
“Yes, but nothing we can understand today, tomorrow or maybe even in a decade’s time,” replied Ryan.
“What sort of technology? Please give me an idea of what you have found. Is it a weapon, or something to strike terror here on Earth?”
“No, far simpler than that: it’s Cold Fusion,” was Ryan’s reply.
The Prime Minister smiled. “Yes, a power source we, and the rest of the world, have worked hard to develop, but as yet with no luck. I was thinking you might have found something really new and exciting out there in the solar system.”
It was Ryan’s turn to smile. “The solar system is a grain of sand in the universe, and what my crew and I have seen out there is a grain of sand on a grain of sand.”
“I ask you for one thing, Mr. Richmond, in return for surveillance equipment for your new desert territory.”
Ryan said nothing.
“Cold Fusion will certainly aid us in the defense of our state, the State of Israel. You seem fond of children. You saw the four children we brought to our meeting? Two boys and two girls, ten to twelve years old, and all sons and daughters of our most prominent scientists.”
Ryan nodded.
“If you won’t or cannot teach us your new technology, could you at least teach our children? Take them with you, and one day return them to a better Earth with the knowledge and ability to keep our small nation safe from the beasts of prey out there. If you do, and return them to our country one day in the future, you may have all the help we can offer you. That is all I ask.”
Ryan thought about the offer. The Prime Minister pressed a button and Ryan’s old friend entered with two fresh small cups of coffee and some more baklava, something Ryan had found himself to be rather partial to. The man left and Ryan helped himself, still deep in thought.
“I will agree to your suggestion, Mr. Prime Minister, if I can also take children from a few other countries. We have a problem in space. All our babies born are girls. Our medical staff believe it is due to a lack of gravity. That is the only reason we all can fathom why.”
“Go on,” the Prime Minister said.
“I will be happy to take the two boys. I will only take boy children. The gene pool aboard America One will be strong for generations to come, and I will teach your young men what they need to know. We start school aboard ship at the age of three. My oldest daughter Lunar, at eleven, is already at university level and will complete her schooling toward the end of her fourteenth year. At fifteen, she will begin to study flight and space survival. Compared to what I remember about school here on Earth, she will be as educated at fourteen as any student here on Earth at twenty-five.”
The Prime Minister smiled, pleased.
“Our children also start early, albeit not as early as yours. The two boys are the very best we have and I believe will catch up quickly. In our hospitals we have some of the best researchers and doctors. Many studied in the States and China until they were forced to return. I think taking children from other countries is a sound idea. If you could teach them peace and education, then when they return, they could turn this badly run planet into a place of peace for all mankind.”
At that suggestion, a new plan began to form in Ryan’s mind.
Then the Israeli Prime Minister made a statement that made Ryan go ice cold. “It seems you are collecting international children already, and girls I might add.” The man smiled, already having been warned that Ryan wouldn’t know what he was talking about. “Your old American friend didn’t tell you?”
Ryan indicated that he didn’t.
“Then you had better ask the young university girl that I was told is now part of your crew whether her father knows she is with you.”
Ryan’s face went white, and he stared at the man, trying to figure out what he was getting at.
“Mr. Richmond, now I believe you don’t know, and your former President unfortunately made a promise to the girl not to tell you, but he asked me to let you in on this secret since he couldn’t.”
“She is an adult. I don’t know her real name, and she seems good at physics. I don’t see where you and my old friend are going with this?”
“Joanne Dithers, the only daughter of the current President of the United States, is in your crew.” Ryan looked at him, and the Prime Minister was sure that Ryan’s jaw would drop off the end of his face.
“A plant?” was all Ryan could think of saying.
“I don’t think so,” was the reply. “It seems that father and daughter don’t get on well together, and our mutual friend told me that this young lady is a genius in her field, so let her down lightly, Mr. Richmond.”
The meeting came to an end. Both men felt happy at what they had got out of it, and Ryan was to be delivered the latest Israeli surveillance equipment, a large lift helicopter and two earthmoving machines to help him set up his base. Ryan agreed to take the two boys with him.
Upon leaving the private meeting, he made a beeline to his old friend who was talking to a few generals. The former President, seeing that the message had been delivered, excused himself from the others.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ryan asked. He didn’t know if he was angry, or just shell-shocked.
“I’m sorry, Ryan. I spoke to her when I recognized her at your base. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw her. I asked her directly and she made me promise first, before she actually told me she was Joanne Dithers. I kept my word, but figured how to tell you without it. I didn’t tell you, and she and her father dislike each other as much as you and he do. Nobody gets on with the President. He is a mean SOB. Even his Vice President refuses to be on the same stage as he is, and now the President wants to extend his own term of office. I just don’t believe the American people will allow him, but I’m sure he won’t give them the chance. Our old country, Ryan, has gone all the way back to a lousy dictatorship.”
“I can’t take her with me,” Ryan replied.
“Well, she is a consenting adult over 21. You believe in freedom and the rights of an individual. I believe you will be going against your beliefs just because she is somebody, and believe you me, she is well-liked with the younger generations in the U.S. I believe Ms. Dithers has as much pulling power with the young people in the United States as her father has a lack of it. She has rubbed his face in the dirt more than anybody else has dared to. I believe that the government actually tried to silence her at one time with a car accident about a year ago, and her father went ballistic when he found out. Three generals lost their jobs and disappeared from view. Even though he hates her, and vice versa, there is a bond between them, and you now have a great strong anti-government supporter in your team. Whether she stays with you, Ryan, that is your decision alone.”
After thanking the Israelis for their honesty and hospitality, two aircraft left and flew back over the Red Sea, passing a massive helicopter moving down the same piece of sea several thousand feet below them.
“That, Ryan, is the largest helicopter in the world,” said Bob Mathews over the radio. He was flying Jonesy’s aircraft, as Martin Brusk and the Aussie Prime Minister wanted to talk with the Israelis some more. “Russian, built by MIG, an Mi-26 I think it is called, latest model, and it can hoist one of your Bradleys, just barely. That is as pretty an aircraft as the Dead Chicken. It has range, power and fantastic lift capacity. With that buddy, your lifting problems are over.”
The former President, his job done, flew back to Canada while it was safe to do so. He was too old to follow Ryan; his chance to go into space had passed, but he was happy to be of help for a future peaceful world.
Chapter 7
The Pig’s Snout
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ryan asked the blonde girl a few hours later back on the airfield.
“That SOB told you?” she demanded angrily.
“No, he did not,” was the reply. “I was told by somebody in Israel about you being the President’s daughter.” By this time Ryan had cooled down. The girl seemed pretty feisty to him. She certainly didn’t take any crap from Hans her beau, and his daughters got on with her extremely well.
“Well, if I had told you, I would still be in the U.S.,” she replied. “I really want to get away from this planet. Like you, Mr. Richmond, I don’t fit in here. Maybe sometime in the future, but certainly not when the likes of my father are in power. I’m young, I can learn, I want to give 100%, and I promise when we return one day, I will be useful.”
Ryan told her that he would consider her staying, but first he wanted to speak to his wife. Often even the famous Ryan Richmond needed help and the calming voice of his wife.
For the rest of that night, he, Kathy and their two daughters talked and discussed the future of the NextGens. The massive helicopter came in, as did two Israeli cargo aircraft carrying equipment and excavation gear, and by midnight all were gone and the airfield was quiet again.
Over the next few days, waiting for the runway to be completed, Ryan thought out his new NextGen plan with his family. Then he talked with Captain Pete and VIN up in America One, and they came to an agreement. If they could take one or two children from several countries, maybe when they returned, these children would change the politics of the planet for the better.
At the same time, with a smaller helicopter coming in with a small group of Israeli surveillance specialists, some of Ryan’s crew were airlifted into the volcanic crater, the only high ground around them. The crater lip was set up with camera and radar equipment. Ryan told the visitors that the crater was of no importance, and that at least the altitude gave them an extra surveillance boundary, as the live footage from cameras could be used back at the new airstrip.
The specialists from Tel Aviv told him that the system would work better at even higher altitudes, as they had it around the borders of Israel: aboard continuously flying aircraft.
Ryan didn’t want people watching his every move from the lip of the crater. Ryan and his crew now could see the movement of a scorpion for 25 miles in all directions. They had delivered four complete surveillance systems, and he knew where the others were going. Also, because all the cameras on the crater lip were facing outwards, anybody secretly viewing any of the live feed would not see movement inside or above the crater.
Once he could get a unit of the new system into space aboard America One, then he could check movement from 350,000 feet for twenty minutes every hour. It seemed that this new system had better cameras than his own space cameras, and if so, he wasn’t giving them back.
The runway was completed only a day late, and within twelve hours of completion the Aussies left the new base. Now Ryan had the area all to himself and his crew. The massive Israeli Air Force helicopter had already done its job in one day working with the Libyan Air Force Chinook helicopter that had arrived.
All the earthmoving equipment was up and on the flat sand inside the crater, with several shipping containers of material from Israel and tons of supplies and everything else they needed to survive up there and dig into the Pig’s Snout. The second chopper was an old CH-47 Chinook, which could be flown by Bob Mathews, and or his crew. They had all flown Chinooks while in the Air Force, and Beth in the left seat flew the chopper into the crater once all visitors had departed.
A plan had slowly come together over the last couple of days. Ryan and his crew knew that every reentry from space would be recorded by dozens of countries monitoring his movements. What else did NASA or the space agencies around the world have to do? Several Earth telescopes had found America One. It hadn’t been difficult with the ship orbiting so low; many had seen its blue haze around the mother ship and was questioning whether that haze, or shield, or whatever it was, was the reason all attacks on the spaceship had failed.
Captain Pete knew that somebody would soon send up more laser cubes to watch how his ship destroyed them. He and Ryan discussed whether the mother ship should climb higher and become a more difficult target, but Ryan had said that being so low was showing strength to their adversaries, and to let the planet see their new system.
The crew on the bridge had pondered for days on how to keep maximum flight numbers up in space when the small craft reentered. It was Igor who thought up the answer. They still had four of the one-way supply vessels that had launched from Russia and Europe over a decade earlier, which were still strapped against the mother ship’s outer skin. They had held nonperishable supplies for many years, and only one had been used to send waste out toward the sun before that problem had been rectified in the biology department a year after leaving Earth. For the last several years, every bit of waste had been reused one way or another.
Now the dormant and aging supply vessels awaited a new job.
“We still have two spare shields,” said Igor, speaking in Matt during the radio meeting, the day the builders left. “Nobody on Earth knows where our lasers are. Whether they are on our shuttles, and or on the mother ship. Commander Joot’s two craft have their own shields to reenter. We have four of these old cargo vessels, which could be used by Earth for target practice if need be. Our two mining craft and the three shuttles are all outfitted with shields. We can replace two of the shuttles when they reenter with these supply ships, dress them up with a power pack and a shield, and get the mining craft to deposit them on our rotational route, taking the place of the shuttles when they reenter.”
“I’m getting your idea,” said Ryan. They could show more space vehicles than ever before. “Those four supply vessels, although empty, will increase our apparent numbers: three shuttles and two mining craft, and the four empty and useless supply vessels. Ten spacecraft orbiting Earth. That should show Earth that we have even more vessels than they have counted up to now. They already know we have eight ships orbiting Earth, but don’t know if one or all our vessels have lasers, and when two shuttles and the two Matt craft enter, there are still eight vessels up there. Igor, I’m going to double your pay. A fantastic plan.”
“Thank you for your generosity, boss,” replied Igor, smiling far above Ryan and on the bridge. “Twice nothing is still nothing.”
“Maybe I’ll bring you up one of my freshly caught Mahi-Mahi as a bonus when I go fishing,” added Jonesy, sarcastic and very bored in SB-III.
“Igor, how about the latest state of the art Earth-made surveillance cameras, as payment?” Ryan added, enjoying the banter.
“Now you’re talking, boss,” replied Igor, excited. Ryan knew how to please his crew.
“I think we are on to something here,” added Captain Pete. “I’ll also take one of those fresh fish when you get them. We can set up Igor’s new plan and have it ready in 24 hours. I’m thinking that there could be more Matt craft inside the secret location. I spoke to Commander Joot, and he remembered six Matt craft being built while he was down on Earth. Due to the lack of increased alcohol manufacturing over the same period, he doesn’t believe any more craft would have been manufactured. At least we can turn three of them into liquid-hydrogen-powered craft one day if there are more down there.”
“The more numbers orbiting up there the better,” added Ryan. “It is always good to keep the enemy guessing, and my reasoning on our spacecraft numbers is that the countries who want to attack us will have to deal with a scenario where every one of our craft might have a laser to blow their launch sites apart. Igor, well done. A great idea, and very cheap. I hope we find two more black boxes down here as well.”
Ryan and Kathy decided that it was a good idea to take several more international children with them. If they could be turned into leaders, then maybe planet Earth could be revitalized with clever, peaceful thinkers one day. China and Russia had been asked a day earlier, but had refused to send a child. As far as Kathy was concerned, they had the best American, Joanne Dithers, and the young girl had kissed Ryan on the cheek and hugged Kathy when they had told her that through popular female demand she was now part of the team.
Some of the newest children were already arriving; the two boys from Israel, as well as two younger boys from Australia were being flown in straight from Perth and arriving within the hour. One boy from Tripoli and one boy from Canada had arrived on a third jet a few hours earlier, one day after the builders had left. These were the last visits Ryan allowed for the time being, as it was time to bring in the heavies from space. The clock would start ticking, and Ryan wanted to make sure that everyone was ready.
“How are my parents, and about my spot of fishing, boss?” asked Jonesy in Matt early the next morning as SB-III flew over the Sahara.
“Your parents are happy, sunburned and peaceful,” replied Ryan in the same language, “enjoying the sunshine and look forward to joining you. We are all working out down here, Mr. Jones, preparing for our exits; even your parents are joining in. Your father is still quite tough, and can run. Unfortunately, it seems that we are all in danger of being attacked if caught without protection on Earth. It’s a big problem I cannot fix, Mr. Jones.”
Ryan felt bad. Jonesy had been promised a fishing trip. A couple of the crew, including VIN, Suzi, he and Kathy, had looked forward to spending a few days relaxing. “I know I have promised, but once we have completed our tasks down here, Chief Astronaut, then I will do my best, I promise for the second time.”
“Roger that,” replied Jonesy grudgingly once his wife sitting in the right seat reminded him that the boss kept his promises. All the astronauts had been living in their craft for the last week and were tired, but because they all had children down on Earth, the three shuttles kept up their orbital surveillance.
“Are there enough pilots to land Commander Joot’s ships?” Ryan continued. He had lost touch with the goings-on aboard his ship.
“Roger,” replied Jonesy again in Matt. “Max Burgos and I will be a team in one of the Matt craft. Joot and Roo are in the other. I believe that once I have completed my first vertical landing on Earth, and with the blue shield, I could even try to bring in the shuttle the same way. Maggie is flying our baby, and she will have Igor or Boris, who are good enough to be second mates. Both are accurate shooters, over.”
A couple of the names came out in English. The Matts hadn’t changed several of the names into their language, but at least anybody listening in couldn’t understand the words around the names. At least 100 different radio hotspots around the world would be scratching their heads. The clicks, and whatever this language was, would sound totally alien to them.
“Captain Pete, a security update please,” Ryan then asked his captain.
“The first two empty vessels have had the shields added and activated and are in position behind SB-II and SB-III respectively. They came up on radar as lone blips ten hours ago. The other two should come online in about three hours without shields, and the mining craft will release the second two cargo vessels in thirteen hours. Then we should be ready to begin reentries, over.”
The time had come to reenter Earth’s atmosphere, arriving at a new location and with different glide slopes. Ryan hoped that there wouldn’t be a problem, and that nobody would start World War Four as soon as they noticed the craft on their radar systems decreasing altitude one after the other.
At the last moment Ryan decided to just bring in SB-III, Maggie flying with Igor, and Commander Joot with Elder Roo, to see any reactions. The watchers would only see SB-III arriving. Commander Joot’s craft was virtually invisible once it arrived within the upper atmosphere. Both spacecraft would take 18 hours to refuel and load with cargo. There were cargo pods, liquid hydrogen and 500 gallons of alcohol ready on the airfields, as well as the same amount of alcohol already in the crater for the arriving Matt craft. That would still leave ten radar blips up there, hopefully enough to deter anybody from sending up missiles. The Matt craft would be protected by its shield, but once reentry was initiated, Jonesy wouldn’t be able to activate the shield, even though Commander Joot thought it safe. They would all wait and see.
With all three lasers at the ready, and orbiting around the Earth, the reentries began.
Commander Joot’s entry point was identical to Maggie’s, even though he would use the last 5,000 feet landing vertically. He had some sort of memory system aboard, which Igor had realized a few days earlier that if a replica was placed into SB-III, might help Jonesy reenter with his shield live one day. There were so many questions the America One crew had where the answers could be deep below the sand inside the Pig’s Snout.
For over an hour after reentry had begun, until the silver glint far above the crater was seen by the strongest of eyes, few words were said from either platform.
Both Commander Joot on his small radio pack by Roo’s feet and Maggie in SB-III only came on air once they were below 150,000 feet. Maggie was closing above the Head of Africa while Commander Joot was already on hover 7,000 feet above sea level and 3,000 feet above the crater. His craft, with Elder Roo as copilot, was flying on exactly the same path it had flown 10,000 years earlier.
Something underground in the crater was still working, as Commander Joot said that his craft was on complete autopilot and was being brought in through either computer programming in his own craft, or from the crater below.
In the meantime, Ryan had wanted his guys to man the earthmoving equipment. Bob Mathews and Jonesy’s father had used these types of machines before, and they first practiced digging and lifting a ton of earth at a time and depositing it a few yards away. The crater was still pretty wide, and nobody yet knew where to start digging.
Ryan watched the commander’s spacecraft inside its blue shield slowly lower itself down toward the crater. Igor and Boris had fitted the portable radio into the Matt craft on the return journey from Mars.
“My ship is drifting off center of the crater below me. I am worried that the weight of sand could destroy the automatic roof door when it opens. Ryan, what should I do?” Joot’s voice came over the radio from high above.
“Can you take over manual flight?” Ryan asked in Matt.
“Yes, but that will interrupt my automatic flight into my parking position inside the base,” was the reply.
“Commander, gauge your position above the exact place you would have touched the sand,” responded Ryan, “then switch to manual flight and bring her in on the other side of the crater. There is a landing zone ready for you, and we have a crewmember with batons ready. Once you show us where you would have entered, we can begin digging.”
To all looking at the silver craft in a bright blue soap bubble high above them, it was certainly beautiful. Ryan looked over to Jonesy’s dad. His mouth was open as he shielded his sunglasses peering up at the vertical landing craft. The craft seemed still totally silent.
“Sierra Bravo III, this is Desert Control, do you copy, over?” said Ryan’s base controller sitting next to him. As with the rest of America One’s original crew, the controller spoke fluent Matt.
“Roger, computers still operating the craft. I’m leaving the autopilot on until 50,000 feet as preprogrammed, over,” replied Igor.
“Roger that,” continued ground control. He manned the bank of computerized approach systems and controlled the shuttle more than Maggie in SB-III. “I have a few changes to make to the computer approach path. The approach is too fast. I will lift her nose up two degrees for ten seconds. Confirm altitude 88,000 feet, 3,100 knots. Temperature on ground 100 degrees, zero wind, over.”
“Roger, 87,100 feet, 3,090 knots; ground temperature 100 degrees, zero wind, over,” replied Maggie calmly. Jonesy was listening in far above on the radio in the second Matt craft. He could see the approach of the shuttle in his mind, and knew exactly what was happening. His wife was perfect at flying and speaking Matt too, except that all the shuttle call signs were still spoken in English.
Ryan was busy talking to VIN on the second frequency as he looked up. “Commander Joot, you have ten seconds to land. A sonic boom is ten seconds out.”
The commander, knowing that the sonic boom from the shuttle passing overhead could jostle his craft at the last moment just before landing, brought the vehicle, surrounded by its blue shield, gently onto the sand. The landing was totally silent, and Ryan realized that the shield trapped the noise. It was the first time any of them had seen the shield operational in atmospheric conditions, and it looked like a soap bubble, floating as if a child had just blown it and let it go. The pretty Matt craft and its surrounding soap bubble looked totally surreal.
“Sierra Bravo III to Desert control, passing through 49,000 feet 27 miles to target, speed 710 knots, have your crater visual. Preparing to take manual control, over,” said Igor.
“Copied that. First ship is down and clear, over,” replied the man next to Ryan.
Ryan thought he saw a glint of sunlight reflection high and very fast above them when the sonic boom of SB-III passing through the speed of sound echoed and rattled the crater. The sand didn’t vibrate, as it was packed down pretty hard, here for centuries.
“America One bridge to Desert Control, no interesting movements around the planet as of yet, over.”
“SB-III to Desert Control, I have manual,” said Maggie. “Sixteen miles to target, 41,000 feet, 669 knots, nothing out here but sand, believe I have the runway in sight, shimmering on the horizon but in sight, over.”
Jonesy knew when he was beat but stayed quiet. He didn’t want to mess up his wife’s concentration. Whether it was her abilities, or the extra flight on autopilot, in a split second of hearing her last callout he knew she wouldn’t use the air brakes, something he had used on every single approach. She had got the approach absolutely perfect and his wife let him know a few seconds later.
“SB-III, perfect glide slope, 3 miles to target, 17,000 feet, 494 knots, no air brakes needed, wheels out…one mile to target, 7,900 feet, 330 knots…perfect slope, 400 yards out 1,800 feet, 290 knots…flaring out…rear wheels down…SB-III’s front wheel down…chute going out. The Eagle has landed, over,” added Igor as Maggie landed SB-III, smiling at her perfect accomplishment that would be noticed high above them by her perfect husband.
“SB-III, Roger, Maggie, Igor. Congrats, you know what to do, over,” said Ryan. A minute later he got a response from Maggie. “SB-III, Roger. We are stationary, about 1,500 feet from the runway end. The chute has been ejected, Bob is picking it up. Fuel at seven percent, ready for shield deployment then VTOL launch.”
The Chinook on the ground several hundred feet away from the stationary shuttle waited as Bob Mathews, with help from Hans Dietrich and Joanne Dithers, collected the parachute, rolled it up and carried it back to the helicopter.
None of the crew in the Chinook were prepared for what happened next. The shuttle began to be enveloped by a blue soap bubble that came out of nowhere.
“Would have made a fortune with car washes working like that,” said Bob Mathews standing next to the Chinook. “Wish I knew what they were talking about.”
“That is not physics we have seen here on Earth before,” added Hans.
“It must be the secret shield,” added Joanne Dithers, as shocked as the others.
The shield slowly enveloped Maggie’s craft, and within fifteen minutes and with no sound at all the shuttle left the ground as the bubble carried the craft away.
Ryan and his astronauts had prepared for ultimate safety. The shuttles would be totally defenseless from an air or missile attack while on the new airfield, and the crew had programmed the last refueling from America One with an added 7 percent of fuel. Usually the liquid hydrogen burned off by 140,000 feet, but on this approach the computers had closed down the thrusters as usual, but Maggie had landed still with fuel in her tanks. As she was coming in empty of cargo, the extra weight wasn’t noticeable.
With radio silence the order of the day with the ground crew, Bob Mathews watched as if he were in a theater watching a science fiction movie. The craft lifted up very slowly to about one hundred feet, and then slowly began floating in the direction of the crater thirty miles away.
“Forty percent thrust, forty-five; it feels as if we are moving. This is very weird, guys. The bubble is acting as if I am still in space. Fifty-five percent downward thrust and we are off the ground.”
“Maggie, you are in space, you have a vacuum around you,” said Ryan excitedly, stating first names, something he didn’t often do with his astronauts.
Maggie was a competent helicopter pilot, even better than her husband, and both of them had flown dozens of hours of VTOL on Earth takeoffs on and off the moon, many planets, and even asteroids, but never acting as a helicopter on Earth with five times more powerful gravitational pull than the planets. Normally, at minimum 95 percent power, the loaded shuttle left Earth and headed skyward without the blue shield. Now, with no cargo, nearly empty tanks and the slight weight of six passengers in the crew compartment, the bubble had somehow helped her off the ground with very little thrust. Even on testing, SB-III couldn’t lift off the ground under 75 percent power.
Maggie flew the shuttle as if it was a helicopter, slowly at first, but as her confidence rose, faster and faster.
“Remember to stay below 5,000 feet,” said Ryan. He could see her approach through the new Israeli surveillance cameras.
To Bob Mathews, there was absolutely no noise coming from the shuttle’s thrusters. Normally he would have needed ear plugs standing this close. It was as if the noise was corralled inside the soap bubble.
“That is amazing,” said Bob as he climbed into the Chinook and headed to the cockpit. “Beth, start her up, let’s follow. Ryan told us to stay at least a mile from the shuttle. I can see why.”
They couldn’t catch the fast moving bubble. Maggie took just ten minutes to fly the thirty miles to the lip of the crater. All she had done was point the shuttle’s nose forward and then slowly turn the thruster from vertical to an angle pushing air behind and downward at the same time, so the craft moved forward. Once she was moving forward, she gently increased the engine thrust to sixty percent. As if without any air drag, the shuttle’s forward speed rapidly increased to over 250 knots, and the crater grew quickly out of the western horizon.
The Chinook just taking off had no chance to catch her, and came in thirty minutes later to land on the edge of the crater opposite from where Maggie was already down, next to the other interesting spacecraft a little smaller than the shuttle.
For poor old Bob Mathews this was all getting a little too much fiction, and by the time the helicopter landed, the soap bubble around the shuttle was gone.
“All safe and sound on our new base,” said Ryan as the Chinook landed. The two landings he had witnessed were certainly something new in normal Earth conditions. He had seen the bubbles work for years out in space, but seeing them here on Earth was an awesome sight. If it had been for him, then it had certainly been an interesting experience for the newbies.
Astermine and part of its crew on Earth were safe in a crater in the middle of the Sahara Desert. Now it was time to discover what the Pig’s Snout had hidden away, and Ryan gave the permission for the second set of two craft to enter the next day.
Chapter 8
Okay, So You Want War?
Igor and the other six crewmembers in SB-III’s crew compartment hadn’t returned to Earth’s gravity for a decade and were as weak as the others had been on their first visit. A helmetless Maggie helped Igor out of the craft’s side entrance and actually carried him away from the side of craft.
Saturn Jones ran up to hug her mother, who handed her Russian copilot over to a NextGen, he was so light. Mars Noble was tall and strong enough to carry the embarrassed Igor to the unmanned medical center.
Once Maggie hugged them, she returned to the shuttle and with her experienced daughter helped the unsuited passengers out one by one. Dr. Nancy was first. She was to look over the two Matt astronauts and then the others, once she was carried in and able to regain a little strength, balance and composure.
Commander Joot and Elder Roo, both wearing one of Ryan’s teenager-sized spacesuits and helmets, had climbed out of the side of their craft an hour earlier, with the help of two strong kids their own size, Lunar Richmond and Penelope Pitt. They had been carried into the special medical tent reserved for arrivals. The onlookers seemed a little surprised when Commander Joot and Elder Roo pulled themselves out of their craft. The astronauts looked like children, extremely short.
The Matt shield had been turned off, but the two wore full suits on Ryan’s orders, to hide them until the time was right to introduce them to the newbies.
The America One crewmembers already on Earth, like on any airport apron, pulled refueling hoses, thickly protected from the heat, up to connecting nozzles from the Dewars. The ethanol and liquid hydrogen supplies had already been carried and buried in the sand by Bob Mathews the day earlier. The crew began refueling the shuttle just like the Matt craft. Pipes, buried in the sand to keep them cool, had already been positioned directly under each craft’s designated landing area.
Maggie and Igor joined Commander Joot and Elder Roo, chatting with each other in Matt, describing the flights and landings. The six new crewmembers were helped into the cordoned-off area by Mars and Saturn one by one. They had been brought to help set up the new base with electronics, computers and enough equipment to run the craft in and out from the Pig’s Snout.
Thirteen of the newbies, now preparing for their first flight, were scheduled to be checked over by Dr. Nancy when she regained the use of her legs. Dr. Walls was then introduced to his mentor, who immediately began ordering him around as if he was her student.
The crater’s living quarters were under large military desert camouflage tents supplied by the Australians. Three tents were currently up and as far away from the landing areas as possible. The crater was large, about 800 feet across, but it was quickly filling up with spacecraft, helicopters, tents and equipment.
“Jonesy promised us a swimming pool when we arrived. Where is our bathing pool to help us strengthen our limbs?” Dr. Nancy shouted out to Ryan as she was carried past him in the control room.
“Oh damn, I have totally forgotten about the pool the Australians delivered,” he replied to Dr. Nancy walking into the medical center. “The Aussies made us a prefabricated aboveground temperature-controlled pool out of a new type of foam, twenty feet across and five feet deep. It is still inside one of the hangars with three pallets of water. Sorry Doc, I’ll get the Chinook to head back and pick it up immediately.”
Ryan walked out of the tent and into the hot desert sun. It was already well over a hundred degrees, but beautiful dry air was very pleasant. It was even drier than he remembered in the Nevada desert, or was it his imagination? The balance of the crater’s habitants were erecting a fourth tent, while all the arrivals were being carried by the America One children into the medical area.
Only Lieutenant Walls was on guard by the two spacecraft, while four crewmembers monitored the refueling. The spacecraft were both sealed, and their silver coloring would keep the desert heat at bay inside the cockpit and cargo holds until loading.
Two of the six full Dewars left behind when they had exited had been lifted up into the crater by the large helicopter and buried ten feet under the surface of the sand to keep them cool. Even the pipes to the four separate landing zones had been buried to keep the refueling as cool as possible. The liquid hydrogen pipes were a foot thick, most of the width being insulation to keep them cool during the refueling process. One pipe loading alcohol connected to Joot’s craft, and 500 gallons was pumped into the craft’s only tank. The refueling of the two totally different spacecraft was like night and day.
There were four more Dewars filled with liquid hydrogen on the airfield thirty miles away, and up here in the crater they only had enough fuel for the first two shuttles. The Matt craft was certainly easier to refuel, and could take the same amount of cargo, but none of their passenger compartments had ever been found on Enceladus, Mars, or the asteroid. Commander Joot couldn’t figure out what had happened to them, and was hoping to find at least one in his old base. If he could find a passenger compartment, crewmembers could be taken into space in his ship as well as cargo, and the shuttles could remain orbiting Earth. It was pretty difficult to refuel them inside the crater and return them into space.
Maybe it would be easier once the Matt base beneath them was uncovered, and Ryan looked over to see Bob Mathews and Jonesy’s father working the earthmovers, already digging the first hole where the commander had shown them while he had hovered above the exact spot.
“Beth,” shouted Ryan to Bob’s girls helping to erect the tent. “When you are done, take Monica and Lieutenant Walls and head down to the base. There is a swimming pool on a large square pallet. Use the forklift, connect it under the Chinook and place it as close to the medical tent over there as you can. There are three pallets of water that need to return with it.”
She gave him the thumbs-up and got on with erecting the tent.
What Commander Joot told Ryan during the flight debriefing an hour later was interesting. Ryan was shown on the computer that the Matt craft had hovered at exactly 1,500 feet above the sand on the crater before changing position to land. The commander’s craft had said that he was 1,660 feet above his exact Matt landing place. Somehow his craft was still either gathering information from below the sand, or it was in the memory of his onboard computers.
With 40 feet needed for a cavern to accommodate the Matt craft that meant that the earthmovers would need to dig about 120 feet to where the top of the Matt cavern’s roof level should be. If it was strong enough to hold all this sand, it was certainly strong enough for the earthmovers to move around on top of it.
He decided to don a full spacesuit, and ordered the shorter commander to do the same. So far nobody outside the old America One crew had seen a Matt. The new members didn’t know why the earthmovers were working so hard, and Ryan thought that the secret needed to be kept for a few more days. It took VIN and Suzi 15 minutes to help dress the men, one in an adult suit and the older man in a teenager suit. Then with sun visors down so nobody could see their faces, they headed outside.
This time the heat and sunlight didn’t hit Ryan as he exited the shade. The suit kept out everything, even the noise and communication around them. It was totally silent apart from his breathing, slow and methodical.
“Can you remember the crater?” Ryan asked Commander Joot in English for a change. Only the command center could hear them.
“Yes, like I was here a month ago. I cannot think how all this sand got in here.”
“Several thousand years of dust storms I would imagine,” Ryan replied. “So describe the crater to me, Commander, if you would be so kind.”
“It was very green. Large trees surrounded the crater. They were very old, and I always remember that when we exited in our spacecraft, the shield was the only reason the trees stayed upright.”
“So you did not get any sand, rocks, or debris on takeoff into your base’s cavern?” asked Igor, now manning the command center.
“Oh no,” Joot replied. “I remember the cavern roof door very well. It had a lip a few inches high that swept any debris on the roof backward as it opened. The cavern was kept extremely clean, and the roof entrance was only opened on launch, a training flight, or landing. We trained in flight outside, on top of the roof. The cavern was for long-term storage, design, and cargo loading only. We had a sunshade, a second level above the door, for training use. There was no sand, and when I was here only rain blew in when it was open. Four of those times were my two landings and takeoffs to space with cargo. Two were from our leader, and some were other commander’s takeoffs and landings. When the blue asteroid was near Earth, every ship was filled with cargo, and often four ships took off together one after the other to travel into space. There are 24 cryogenic chambers inside the cavern, and more nitrogen than on the planets, far more. There is a smaller entrance over there with stairs going down.” He pointed to the area that Bob and Jonesy’s father were looking at digging. “My craft was the closest to the small exit, about thirty feet from where I usually landed.”
“Igor, did you get that?” Ryan asked. “Send out little Mars Noble with my mobile radio. Commander Joot needs to show them where the diggers must start.” Within a minute the young boy arrived. Like his father, he always took his duties seriously.
The two spacesuits walked with Mars over to Bob and Joseph Jones. The two men were rather shocked to see two alien-looking beings heading toward them with young Mars.
The commander grabbed a rock, and with it, drew a rectangle about 50 feet wide and 30 feet long.
“Mr. Mathews, Mr. Jones, please dig in this area,” said Ryan through his mobile radio so that the others could hear. Then the two suited figures walked to the far edge of the rectangle to the middle of the crater. “Gentlemen, directly below this area is a smaller entrance door, with which we can enter into the underground chamber.”
Commander Joot drew a square within the first rectangle, about the size of double doors. “We don’t want to dig out the whole crater until we need to. The roof door is round, and opens from the middle out.” Commander Joot then spent a good ten minutes making a far larger circle, over 120 feet in diameter, which covered much of the west side of the crater. “This is the main cavern door. Hopefully we don’t need to dig it out just yet.”
Then the two suits did their best to walk up to an area next to the crater wall and directly to the side where the square door had been drawn. Ryan was quite surprised to see that there were old holes in the slope, broken and wind-softened steps that led up the side of the crater wall, and now he and the commander were walking on solid rock, not sand.
Within ten minutes they stood on top, next to the crater lip, and there was a flat area several feet wide. Mars still trailed behind them, and Ryan told him to tell his father about these four lookout points when he arrived the next day.
“There are four staircases and a platform, one there, there, and there,” said the commander, pointing around the crater lip. Ryan couldn’t see them.
Mars had other chores, and he nodded and ran down the 100 or so stairs far faster than the two suited men had gone up.
They looked out at the desert stretching as far as the eye could see. The mountainside a couple of thousand feet down to the desert floor was steep and rocky. The slope down reminded Ryan of his skiing days in Bavaria with Suzi.
Commander Joot explained to Ryan that a very large lake and a river flowing eastward covered much of the area outside the crater to the west. The rest was lush tropical vegetation, large trees, thick growth, and lots of animals even though they were vegetarians. Ryan wondered how all this had just disappeared.
Once back, out of his suit and resting, he had a chance to think, and he realized that they most probably now had only a certain amount of time before somebody would come calling. His main worry was that the Big Bad Three might be angry enough to throw nuclear weapons at him, now that he was in the middle of nowhere. It was important to leave as soon as they had searched the Matt base, and the southern hemisphere was beginning to sound safer.
It would take at least a day and a half to get SB-III back into space with all the new crewmembers aboard. VIN would arrive in twenty hours and could help protect the crater, and that meant he would have two of his shuttles on the ground, half of his laser firepower, completely useless for about ten hours. Or were they?
Ryan had Base Control viewing the cameras around the clock, and he was now as well protected as he could ever be, on the airfield and up inside the crater. He heard the Chinook start up and then head out, and his second situation came to mind; sending SB-III up with an extended shield. He decided to go to the medical center to talk to Igor and Commander Joot.
“Commander, please explain to me for the millionth time how these shields save you so much fuel on takeoff?”
The commander smiled as Igor was wheeled in by his daughter Lunar from the control center and back to the medical area. The other weak astronauts were still being checked over by Dr. Nancy, who was now administering her examinations in one of the other Nevada base’s wheelchairs they had brought. Kathy Richmond wheeled the doctor around.
“Ryan, the vacuum inside the shield helps the craft float up virtually weightless,” replied Commander Joot in near-perfect English. “Kathy told me that it works like a balloon here on Earth. Also, there is an important change in the way Earth’s gravity pulls on my craft inside the shield. If I were one rank higher, I would have been taught these technologies. The thrust propels the craft through the atmosphere rapidly, and somehow the direction of the movement is directly related to the thrust direction of the thrusters. You saw me reduce height with my thrusters facing upward, hover, and then thrust my craft horizontally through the air. I reduced thrust and, being closer to the Earth’s surface, a weak gravity automatically continued my descent.”
“That’s it!” said Ryan. “That is my problem. Commander, your craft can thrust downward: in other words your thrusters were facing upward, pushing you down when you descended, right?” The commander nodded. “That is the problem I couldn’t figure out the answer to, but not on takeoff, thank God.”
“Our major thrusters can only face down, or horizontal, not upward,” added Maggie.
“Correct,” added Igor weakly. “We had not noticed such a difference in the Matt thrusters. Why should we? Our shuttles never needed to be pushed downward. Gravity always did that for us without using the shields.”
“And I don’t have the reentry heat on my spaceship like your shuttles have,” added Commander Joot.
“Something we can’t solve: heading downward, Commander, until we redesign our thrusters, and that’s not going to happen while inside this crater. Mrs. Jones, I will refuel SB-III with a ten percent fuel load. How much fuel did you have when you landed?”
“The craft took off from the runway with 7 percent fuel, 55 percent power, and landed 31 minutes later showing 3 percent fuel and needing 50 percent power during descent,” Maggie answered.
“Ten percent should give you at least an hour of atmospheric flight. How do you feel about liftoff with shield extension, and slowly heading up to 10,000 feet? At that altitude, I believe gravity will bring you down again. Igor?”
“I believe you are right,” responded Igor, looking at readouts from the nearest computer monitor. “Even with 90 percent change in drag and gravity change, SB-III should float back down to Earth by gravity using only horizontal thrusting.” Ryan got on his radio and stopped the shuttle’s refueling.
“Okay Ryan, out of here! I need to check everybody out,” ordered Dr. Nancy. “Maggie will be first. Why don’t you be her copilot? Igor has been cleared, and where’s my pool?”
Both Maggie and Ryan were excited. They had a few hours to kill until the heat of the day dissipated, when the Matts would be introduced to the newbies, and so they could go flying. They headed into Base Control for a briefing with Captain Pete and Jonesy up in orbit. Once contact was made, and Mars Noble, Saturn Jones and the two Richmond girls were allowed to join the briefing, it started with Ryan explaining what he wanted Maggie to do. Captain Pete was the first to interrupt Ryan.
“I just wanted to say something before you continue, boss. I watched both aircraft enter the atmosphere earlier today. One with and one without a shield. There was no difference in radar blips until about 120,000 feet altitude. As usual, SB-III was strong on radar tracking all the way down to about 5,000 feet. Then we began losing her. By 3,000 feet she was off our radars. Commander Joot’s craft began giving us a weak tracking symbol as high as 120,000 feet, and we had totally lost his craft when he called in at 50,000 feet telling us that he was about to begin a hover. I have talked it out with Boris and Fritz up here, and the only answer we can think of is that the shield with the craft inside it becomes a stealth ship as the air thickens around it. There is a lot of difference in air density between those two layers, over.”
“Interesting,” replied Ryan. “Nothing better than stealth flight down here.”
The biggest question to be answered by Maggie’s test flight was suggested by Jonesy. It would be extremely interesting to find out what would happen if the shuttle needed to go into laser mode while in descent, and the shield was reduced to allow the laser to extend out of the front of the shield. Part of the tail and the tips of the wings would also be out of the vacuum during atmospheric reentry.
Maggie had the big question. What would happen if the shield was reduced to zero while in flight, and what would happen to all the thrust as gravity suddenly reared its ugly head? Nobody could answer those questions. Jonesy wanted Ryan to wait on the more dangerous experiments until he had succeeded in bringing the second Matt craft in, and had flown the Matt craft through the more dangerous procedures. He certainly didn’t want his wife flying, even though he nearly admitted for the first time ever that she was as good as he.
“One more important factor,” added Igor, once flying protocol had been agreed to. “If Captain Pete began losing the commander’s craft on radar at 120,000 feet, then all the ground radars might have lost it earlier. Why?” he asked the others. Nobody answered this one. “If the density of the air around the craft made it disappear, then it could have disappeared faster from down here than up there. It is only a theory, but think of it from this angle; America One is looking down at the commander’s craft, but everybody down here has to look up to follow it. Ryan, your lone radar system was tracking Maggie. You were not tracking Commander Joot. You expected him to arrive right above you, as he did. I believe that if we were tracking his entry from our old base in Nevada, our ground radar would have been looking up, tracking his craft through the thicker atmospheric layers closer to Earth. If his blip disappeared from the above view, through thin to no air, then it could have been harder for the ground radars to track him, maybe losing his entry far sooner from below than above. Remember, he didn’t have a flame entry either; the shield stopped that, so his reentry could not have looked like a reentry at all.”
“So, as far as others might realize, only one of our craft has reentered Earth’s atmosphere?” suggested Ryan, thinking hard. “But two craft disappeared from radar orbiting the Earth?” He got on his mobile radio. “Radio operator, can you patch me into the frequency the Israeli Air Force gave me?”
“Roger, wait one,” came the reply from a few feet away. Within a minute Ryan was talking to Israel. After short pleasantries he asked his question. “I assume your radars followed our three craft reentering the atmosphere and landing, over?”
“Three, we only saw one come into your runway coordinates. We thought we saw a second reentry at a far higher altitude earlier, but it disappeared. We put it down to debris burning up. We see debris burning up every hour of every day these days, and especially since you left so much up there. You said three spacecraft, over?”
“I was only checking to see if you, and countless other radar installations, were following our every move,” replied Ryan.
After leaving the person on the other end completely baffled, he did the same to Australia on another frequency, and released that he and his team were onto something very new and exciting.
“Ryan,” asked Commander Pete continuing in Matt, once the flight briefing had come to an end. “I believe that you need to get more people and equipment out of your area before the first attack. The reason VIN and I think so, is that we can halt any nuke missile attack or nuke cube attack against us up here. We are climbing higher, out of harm’s way, but we cannot so easily destroy missiles hugging the ground and directed at you, say, from an aircraft or ship in the Red Sea or Mediterranean. Many of the modern missiles a decade ago were ground huggers, and not pointed into orbit. That means that we might not be able to protect you if there is a missile attack on your position. With Jonesy heading up tomorrow in SB-III, that will clear the new recruits, but what about the rest of you?”
“Good point,” Ryan replied, “but somebody has to stay here. Also, we have several aircraft here on the ground: the Dead Chicken, the Jonesy family sedan, and the Chinook. Martin and his family are in my jet. Maybe I should get everybody out of here once we get the first message from you that we have incoming. I will work out a faster evacuation plan.”
Maggie still wanted to do some exciting new tests. Jonesy wasn’t that happy, but he didn’t have much choice. Donning a full spacesuit with helmet with Ryan, they headed out to see if they could learn any more about the shield and how it reacted around SB-III.
Walking out with Maggie and a technician, Ryan noticed that one of the earthmovers was already heading into a growing hole. As it slowly maneuvered its way down a slope, it disappeared from view.
They entered the side hatch and Maggie got to work. Ryan wasn’t anywhere as competent as she or her husband flying their shuttle, but he could take over if Maggie had difficulties. There was no one else better than Ryan on the base at the moment.
“Deploying shield; thrusters winding up to idle; all systems looking good,” said Maggie in Matt over her radio. This was her doing this. On her first shielded flight she had found the controls as easy as without the shield. Whatever she did, it seemed the shield just followed her around like a soap bubble surrounding the craft.
Commander Joot, who had launched and reentered in his craft several times in his 10,000 year flying career, had given her all the pointers he could before in America One on their long flight back from Mars. He didn’t believe there was anything the shield couldn’t do. It didn’t matter how fast his ship accelerated or braked, the shield bobbled and moved gently, sometimes swaying here and there, but it never left his craft.
“Thrusters are warmed up, the shield is extended fully around the shuttle, and all readouts looking completely normal. Increasing thrust to 40 percent…50 percent…54 percent, and we have a gentle lift off. First maneuver is to head straight up to 10,000 feet, over.”
In Base Control, Igor, who had gone through his checkups, and who now had Ryan’s mobile radio, was wheeled outside the tent. The hard sand base easily took the weight of his wheelchair. He was totally covered in a wide-brimmed hat, dark glasses, and a scarf around his neck to protect his pure white skin from sunburn. So were many of the others watching. Only a couple of the returning crew were left in the medical tent. Dr. Nancy, the Chinook pilots, and Joseph Jones manning the earthmover were either too busy or not able to see the launch.
“Looking good from out here. You are hovering about ten feet off the sand, over,” remarked the flight controller.
“Copy that, increasing thrust…. 60 percent, sixty-five, Wow! This is like a high-speed elevator, not a helicopter liftoff…70 percent and holding at 70.”
The spectators on the ground watched as SB-III headed straight up as if launched from a catapult. Within seconds the craft disappeared above them into the blue sky.
“Confirm 16,000 feet?” asked Igor. He couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Roger, passing through 17,000 and reducing thrust back to 51 percent,” Maggie replied. “Sorry guys, it was just too fast to control, and there were absolutely no Gees on my body. Confirm, Ryan?”
“It was utterly unbelievable, more like watching a movie than being a participant. Now holding at 17,800 feet,” said Ryan in Matt, but he reverted to English for his next order, as Beth couldn’t speak Matt. “Beth, you there?”
“Reading you loud and clear,” was the reply from the airfield.
“Grab a couple of the empty 44-gallon gas drums hanging around and lift them in the chopper to the eastern end of the runway. Place them one foot from the end of the tarmac and back away. I want to see our mother ship’s accuracy in case we are attacked, over.”
“Copied that, will have them ready in ten minutes, over,” Beth responded.
“America One is not available; we are though if you want us to blast something,” said Allen Saunders above in SB-II, and in Matt.
“Thanks, we are doing accuracy tests down here,” replied Ryan. “How long before you are out of range?”
“Sixteen minutes. My buddy in the same craft as ours will then be in attendance. The mother ship is 20 minutes after that.”
“Roger, prepare to fire on eastern edge of new runway in fifteen, but wait for my command, over,” replied Ryan. “Maggie, we have nine minutes to wait; we have enough fuel, so what tests can we do?”
“Watch this,” she smiled and began turning the craft to port. Without losing altitude, the bubble moved gently around them, and she turned 360 degrees in one direction, then the same in the opposite. Then she brought the nose up, and moving the thrusters from vertical to thrust behind them, she reduced the power to 50 percent to avoid climbing. “We are now pointing in a perfect launch direction, Ryan. All I have to do is to increase thrust and up we go. We are actually dropping by 4 feet per second, so I’m increasing thrust. There, we are again stationary at 52 percent but unfortunately moving horizontally across the ground at about 15 knots. I’m not yet perfect, but with practice I could get us motionless.”
Ryan became excited. “Maggie, increase thrust by twenty percent for ten seconds then reduce it back to fifty percent,” he replied. Maggie did so and literally they watched as the altimeter began to spin. They felt no movement inside the craft. The bubble around them wobbled somewhat then stilled.
“You guys going home?” asked Igor, shocked at what they were doing.
“Altitude 29,000 feet, vertical speed 290 knots, reducing down to 50 percent,” said Maggie over the internal intercom. “We are fine up here,” she said over the radio.
It took three minutes before their vertical speed reduced to near zero.
“Cans ready at edge of tarmac. Chinook heading back 1,000 feet. Do we need to give you more room, over?”
“Negative,” replied Allen Saunders from above, and in English. “I have the cans and you visual.”
“Ready to fire. Seven minutes before we are over the horizon,” he said to Ryan in Matt a moment later.
“Roger that, Allen, hold your fire for sixty seconds,” Ryan ordered on the radio in Matt. “Maggie, reduce the shield back and position the craft to fire laser at the runway,” he continued so that everyone could hear.
Maggie positioned the nose down directly toward the end of the runway, locked the two drums into the targeting coordinator, prepared a sequence of six three-second bursts, and moments later Beth saw the cans vibrating in front of her at the end of the runway.
“No difference in flight control while the shield is pulled back to fire. Five percent of the craft is out of the shield. Firing complete. Increasing shield.”
Beth and Monica were shocked at how little force had hit the drums when they both ran up to check the hits. They did vibrate and bounce around, but the holes in the cans were patterned, five in one and one in the other, all within a foot diameter.
“Two minutes to out-of-range,” said Allen Saunders in English. “I see two bodies heading away from the target area. Ready to fire, over.”
“You are clear to fire once the ground personnel are safe,” replied Ryan as Maggie brought the shuttle back to horizontal. “Take her back in, Maggie,” he said over their internal intercom.
Again the drums vibrated and bounced around slightly just before Allen Saunders said that he was heading out of range. Michael Pitt’s voice came over the radio, also in English, and asked if he could do some target practice. Ryan gave permission and again the drums vibrated. He asked Beth to collect the cans and return with them to the crater. Ryan knew that the world had been listening in, and hoped that the two shuttles in space firing one after the other had given his enemy food for thought.
As Maggie decreased the thrust to fifty percent, the shuttle didn’t descend. “Okay! She’s not wanting to go down,” she told Ryan. She decreased the thrust another ten percent, and still nothing happened.
At idle thrust, the craft began to descend, but only a foot a minute, and Maggie sighed with relief, her mind racing trying to understand why. “Ryan, I just realized something we hadn’t thought about our space directional thrusters; the tiny thrusters can go in any direction. I will warm them up and see what changes. I know they cannot be used in atmospheric conditions, but as far as they are concerned, there is still a vacuum around us, just like in space, and they shouldn’t burn up.” Ryan nodded. At this speed of descent, he was glad they were only at 31,000 feet.
Both Ryan and Maggie knew that these dozen one-inch-wide jets could not be used inside Earth’s atmosphere, that’s why nobody had thought of using them. These tiny thrusters were used extensively in space keeping the ship aligned and on track. Between all 12 of them they had the equal of about six pounds of thrust.
Maggie brought them online and pointed three of the tiny thrusters along the roof of the shuttle skywards. She dialed in full power and the shuttle doubled her descend rate to two feet a second.
“At this rate, I’ll head back to the galley and cook us a meal. We will be up here all night!” suggested Ryan.
“Just hold on your horses, boss, I’m pointing the nose down five percent.” The descent doubled, and then at 35 percent nose under horizontal, the maximum she could force the nose downward, the forward thrusters pushed them in a downward slope. Maggie then closed down the small thrusters and increased the rear ones back to fifty percent. In a winding pattern, it took the shuttle fifteen minutes to descend to 15,000 feet. At this altitude, the shuttle began to fall.
“Shuttle stable and on hover,” said Maggie watching her gauges, and Ryan was shocked to see that they were only 10,000 feet or so above the desert floor and the crater was nowhere in sight.
“Where are we?” Ryan asked Igor in Ground Control in Matt.
“We can’t register you on radar. We see your telemetry but cannot see you on radar, over. We actually don’t know where you are,” replied Igor in the same language.
“I have you on our laser camera,” said Captain Pete from above. “We were following your blue bubble, then it just headed out of our tight screen at a rapid rate. I now have you visual. Hold on, I’ll pan the viewfinder out. There is the crater, about 190 miles southeast of you, a heading of approximately 110 degrees from your current position, over.”
“Wow! You are a real backup,” replied Maggie. “Okay! How the hell did we get so far over here and away from the crater? Heading back now, six percent fuel remaining.”
Even Commander Joot was puzzled two hours later in the flight debriefing. It was being held in an enclosed area of the main tent after Maggie had brought the shuttle back into land breathing hydrogen fumes. Everybody had very little to say until Igor’s suggestion gave at least a possible answer.
“I believe that the laser firing had something to do with it,” Igor suggested. “Your computers are acting extremely slowly and it seems are not telling you of your movement direction over land as they usually do. Part of your ship outside the shield could have made your craft act like a rifle’s recoil as the bullet leaves the barrel. Inside the shield nothing was amiss: as you fired, I believe the recoil on the atmospheric areas of your shuttle shot you backward, and you didn’t notice as you increased the shield.”
“Wow!” was all Maggie could say.
“We couldn’t see you from the ground at over 25,000 feet. You and the bubble were too small to visualize with the naked eye and by then it was too late, I couldn’t find you on the radar, or even when I was given the binoculars. You must have moved horizontally at a rapid speed.”
“Next time, Maggie, we do the same test at 10,000 feet,” said Ryan.
“But we hit the drums. Beth showed us fair and square,” Maggie said.
“Of course,” replied Igor. “Your sights were locked on to the gas drums, which compensated for your movement, just like in a fast flying fighter jet.” Maggie nodded at this. “Also the spreads of hits from both Allen and Michael were only twice the spread of yours, Maggie, at 300,000 feet and over a thousand of miles further distant than you were. These Israeli cameras are going to have to be really good to beat ours.”
“The Chinook pilot said that three of the eighteen laser shots fired missed the drums but were within one feet of where the drums were standing,” added Ryan. “The tarmac is rather holey in that entire area; every shot must have bored through the drums, the bitumen and even the stones beneath.”
The pilots had learned that as soon as the entire craft was within the shield, flight was controllable up to 20,000 feet. Something happened differently when parts of the craft were sticking out, and above 20,000 feet any descent would be more difficult. Other than that, the flight had been completely stealthy, with fuel usage at about 25 percent of normal. The big question was; what happened if the shield was closed down while in flight? And Maggie didn’t really want to go there just yet.
SB-III was being refueled for its normal launch into space.
Early, exactly as the sky became light, Ryan headed out to see how Bob Mathews had done during the night. Lights had been placed for safety around the growing cavern that now looked like a small quarry. He watched as someone, either Bob or Joseph Jones, brought up a ton of sand. As the hole had deepened, so had the pile of sand fifty feet from the hole grown in size.
It seemed that the two men hadn’t stopped and had worked together in shifts throughout the night. A bleary-eyed Joseph Jones came up to Ryan, peering down the slope the two earthmovers used to get in and out.
“Three cave-ins last night,” Jonesy’s father said to Ryan. “It took us about an hour to clear each one, and they are getting bigger as we go deeper.”
“I assume it just opens the hole up wider,” Ryan replied.
“Yes, we have kept the road in as gentle a slope as possible, but as we go deeper, we have needed more room. The sand is now slightly wetter than at the surface. It must have rained in the last thousand years or so, because the damp sand is not draining, but is making the digging a little safer.”
As he said that, a fourth cave-in occurred, and about a dozen tons of sand slipped into the quarry, an avalanche down one side, the side opposite the road.
“We seem to have them under control. We dig out about 80 percent of the avalanche, dig down about another ten feet, and it happens all over again.”
“Flight to Ground Control: one minute to crossing through 300,000 feet, over.” Both men heard Allen Saunders through Ryan’s mobile in SB-II high above.
“Copy that, we have you on radar, flight perfect,” said Igor from Ground Control. Igor was back at what he really enjoyed: controlling all craft in and out of space.
“Where’s my son?” Joseph Jones asked Ryan. Ryan looked up and pointed. High above was a minuscule silver glint in the morning sun’s rays. The second Matt craft was still on radio silence and very high above them. “Can’t see nothing that far, young man,” added a tired Jones Senior.
“He’ll be landing in about seven minutes,” Ryan replied. “Go rest, Mr. Jones. You have done a fantastic job. You are far too good for this type of hard work.”
“Rubbish, Mr. Richmond, I haven’t felt so energized in years, especially looking forward to going up there. I can rest in weightlessness for the rest of my life. I thought to work my body hard enough to remember the pain for a long time.”
Ryan smiled as Beth ran up to Ryan. “You wanted to see me?’ she asked.
“Yes, there might be an attack on our airfield in the near future. There is a hydrogen Dewar inside one of the hangars aboard its transport trailer. Can you lift it with the Chinook?”
“I think so,” Beth replied.
“Good. I want you to uncouple the Dewar from the trailer and lift it to a halfway point between the airfield and the crater, fifteen miles out. Find a hole or crater or something. If the airfield or the crater is hit by non-nuclear missiles, at least we will have fuel for one more shuttle into orbit.”
To Jonesy and Max Burgos high above, they couldn’t believe how soft and calm the ride had been up to now. To Jonesy, who always felt like he was sitting inside a mini, the Matt craft seemed still on autopilot. He had positioned the craft to the exact coordinates Commander Joot had told him, and suddenly the craft did its own thing. Now Jonesy was as much a passenger as Max was sitting behind him.
Rather like a fighter jet, the astronauts in the Matt craft sat one behind the other. To Jonesy, the ship he was flying looked like the old British or French Concorde coming into land, but with wings a tenth of the size of the old Concorde’s wings. When Jonesy had first seen the alien craft, he had said that they looked like buzzards, or vultures with their head and neck low. Once past the narrow cockpit, the width of the craft extended out rapidly, making it look like a vulture coming in to land. Both pilots could move into the much larger cargo compartment; rails on each side allowed the flight chairs to be unlocked and slide backward into the rear of the spacecraft one after the other.
The Matt ship had no heat-protective tiles on the underside. The shield was fully extended on full power, and they had come through the hot zone, the area that all human craft had done since the 1950s, without any noticeable heat buildup, even on the area of the shield facing the blue planet. The shield had sliced through the atmosphere as if it wasn’t there.
He really wanted to test his beloved shuttle with a full shield reentry. Once he had done a test, only then would he know if he and his shuttle would survive, and there was only one thing that would help him in his endeavor: altitude.
Without touching the controls, he and Max watched as the ship descended. Like a passenger on an aircraft, he had all the time in the world to look out through the wraparound cockpit window around him, and for the first time in his life, watch as mother Earth came up to greet them.
“There goes the East Coast. Never seen it from this altitude,” Max said through their added suit’s internal radio system. Commander Joot didn’t have radios in his craft until Ryan had installed the portable ones in both craft. Before the radios, Commander Joot spoke telepathically to his copilot, and or to any other Matt listening in. Poor Jonesy and Max didn’t have these capabilities. They were both fully suited up in case they had to escape through the vacuum shield, for example if they impacted the ground incorrectly.
“Sort of in between LEO altitude and twice maximum Gulfstream altitude. Look! I can just see Manhattan. All lit up,” replied Jonesy.
“I’m looking toward Key West,” replied Max. “Can see bright Miami, but the islands below disappear in cloud and just out of sight.”
“Bermuda lights coming over the horizon on our port side, eleven o’clock,” continued Jonesy. “It all looks fake and so peaceful-like through the shield. It is weird that the shield seems to disappear at night. I reckon that this damn cockpit is smaller than an F-16. Maybe we should feed the Matts some good U.S. prime beef to make them grow bigger. Then their next damn cockpit could fit me and a fly instead of just me. It’s like looking out of a dryer’s window.”
“Jonesy, the poor guys are vegetarians, and maybe your parents shouldn’t have made you so tall. I’m fine back here,” Max Burgos replied, smiling and now looking out both sides into dark, black looking ocean ahead and below them.
That night, and with a party of music, beers and a BBQ for the Homo sapiens, the new crewmembers were introduced to Commander Joot and Elder Roo. Bob Mathews and his crew had been asked by Ryan to move a second Dewar to the halfway point, to keep them away from the introduction.
Commander Joot, his one arm around Saturn Jones, bowed in front of a very shocked Joseph Jones, tried out his humor, and told the man in perfect English that he was 197 years old before he had gone to sleep, twice as old as the old man in front of him. He also told him how useless his son Jonesy really was.
Ryan smiled broadly when Jones Senior studied the little brown person for several seconds, then put his hands up to the sky, and smiling, shouted that somebody actually agreed with him about his son.
Jonesy, Maggie said to the others, would have smiled at his father’s and the commander’s antics. Jonesy had now perfected the Matt’s sense of humor. Even Elder Roo smiled at the joke, but still looking wearily in the direction of Maggie, realized that the family of the “Tallest Person” took the ribbing-in with good humor. Maggie, on her third beer, told the audience how her husband would naturally have several insults in return, and then jokingly told the crowd how different Jonesy thought the Matts actually were, all bad of course.
Even to Joanne Dithers, meeting aliens was a complete shock. The newcomers had all heard the old crew speaking in a foreign language, and now knew where it had come from. Dr. Walls was the most excited, and like Dr. Nancy who had prodded and pried VIN’s metal legs years earlier in the ISS, Dr. Walls couldn’t help but want to do the same to the short Matts.
It was the humor and camaraderie between the two races that allowed the newcomers to relax, and several beers of course, except for the Matts, who seemed to enjoy the sweet taste of Coca-Cola. It was the second-to-last night on Earth for many.
“Matt flight at 15,000 feet, resume manual control,” said Commander Joot into Igor’s microphone. The sun had just risen over the horizon to Jonesy and Max, but the sun’s rays hadn’t yet reached the crew inside the crater.
“Roger, I have manual control,” replied Jonesy.
“Think and move the stick to your right. You need to move about 100 feet to your right, ‘Tallest Person,’” Commander Joot added, winking at Igor. Jonesy was after all the tallest Tall Person.
“Right is to starboard, ‘Shortest Person,’” replied Jonesy sarcastically. “How many times must I drum that into your brain?”
The two totally different men had a really good friendship going. Jonesy had managed to bring out the commander’s humor over time, something the commander himself didn’t know he had, until Jonesy had honed it. They had spent hundreds of hours flying together and training each other. Commander Joot could fly a shuttle as well as he could fly his own craft, but Jonesy begged to differ on that statement when the commander made it. Jonesy reckoned that the Matt just didn’t have the sixth sense and feel to fly as he and the other Homo sapien astronauts had. The Matt ships flew ninety percent of the time on autopilot, and the shuttles only about sixty percent. That made a difference in Jonesy’s book.
“You are directly above your landing site. Park my second craft next to my first craft, forty feet from wingtip,” continued Commander Joot.
“As you wish, your most high ranking Commandership!” joked Jonesy and brought the craft in to land as Allen Saunders came over the radio taking over manual control in SB-II over the Cape Verde islands.
The Chinook again took off with Lieutenant Walls, Maggie, Ryan and two other armed men in case of any trouble, even though Captain Pete had said that there was no movement within their territory. The second Dewar and a third load of food, fuel and water had been successfully moved.
“Allen, get ready to extend the shield,” said Maggie over the Chinook’s radio in Matt, once SB-II was stationery on the runway and its chute had been ejected.
The crew aboard the helicopter watched as Bob Mathews and Ryan ran out, picked up the chute lying about 200 feet behind the shuttle, and threw the chute into the Chinook. Beth took off once they were in, as Ryan and Maggie wanted to watch the shield and SB-II fly with the shield extended.
“Thrusters up to 50 percent once the shield is on full power. I’m in the Chinook on your starboard aft if you haven’t seen us. Fly her like you would the Chinook; she will fly about the same. Watch your forward speed; it rises quickly once airborne. Fifty-five percent thrust will get you off the ground. Head up to 4,000 feet and forward speed 250 knots, no more. Fly like you are a toboggan sliding on ice. You need to come over the crater lip, then hover at 4,000 and park in formation with SB-III on your starboard side. There must be 100 feet between wingtips to keep the shields well separated, over.”
“Copy that, lifting off now,” replied Allen.
“Keep her facing the shuttle,” Maggie ordered Beth as she reached the cockpit.
“Aye aye, skipper,” the pilot replied.
The spacecraft suddenly rose quickly off the tarmac as if it was lighter than air. Allen pushed the nose down and exactly like a helicopter, as the thrusters pushed the shuttle upward and forward at the same time. Beth had to turn the helicopter quickly to keep the shuttle in the forward windshield, it moved so quickly and effortlessly past them about 200 feet away and gaining altitude rapidly. Within a minute the shuttle was out of sight.
The Chinook returned to the runway, landed, and the crew got out to inspect the mess of bitumen at the eastern end of the runway. It wasn’t a pretty site, and they took off and headed back to the crater.
Debriefing was interesting that afternoon. Jonesy and Commander Joot ribbed each other that a two-year-old could fly either aircraft, while a weary Mr. and Mrs. Saunders, a tired-looking VIN and Suzi Noble, a fresh-seeming Jonesy sitting next to and holding hands with his wife, Max Burgos, and a quiet Elder Roo were debriefed by Igor and Ryan. All of the old crew attended the meeting, even Kathy Richmond and their two daughters sat with Mars and Saturn. Now with two shuttles on the ground the crew, apart from the craft’s refuelers due to its design, were ready for an immediate evacuation if necessary.
“So Mrs. Jones, what do you believe will happen if the shield is fully retracted while in flight?” Ryan asked.
“I believe the shuttle will drop like a brick, more than the brick it usually is, and could go into an uncontrollable vertical spin,” Maggie replied simply.
“I haven’t been there yet, but very few spins are actually uncontrollable,” replied her husband.
“Agreed,” added Allen Saunders.
“There is just so much the pilot can do to gain nose up, or get wing up with these shuttles, even if in an identical spin to a F-16 horizontal spin,” continued Jonesy as chief astronaut. “I must admit that altitude and an ejector seat are the two most important factors in all spins, but look at what the shuttle has to compensate with; zero potential body or wing break-up due to its extremely strong design, air brakes, rear thrusters that can move your lunch anywhere in your body other than your stomach, undercarriage to help you pull out of a spin, hell, one could even use the rear chute, and or deploy the shield. One could even bounce the shuttle in its little blue ball across the desert like a ping pong ball.”
“I’m sure your shuttle was not meant to bounce on the ground, Mr. Jones,” Elder Roo added, straight-faced. Jonesy hadn’t found the humor bone in Roo yet.
For an hour they deliberated about whether to test the shuttle’s reactions to the shield’s retraction in midair, and they were about to agree to trying it on the next reentry from 75,000 feet when Captain Pete squawked over the radio.
“America One to Desert Control. You might have incoming. Six aircraft, turboprop bombers or transport aircraft, looking to cross the coast into Libya from the north, near Tobruk, in about 20 minutes. I believe them to be Russian. Distance 490 miles from your airfield. Incoming at 370 knots. You have a little more than an hour, over.”
“Roger, copy that,” Ryan replied in Matt. “Have you made radio contact, over?”
“Negative, but they are heading your way, over.” Ryan asked Captain Pete to keep them informed, and ended the briefing. Emergency evacuation went into effect and everyone went their separate ways.
It was growing dark as Captain Pete was heard fifty minutes later, over the radio, warning the aircraft in English that they were about to fly into a restricted area. There was no response.
“Have you their correct radio frequency?” Ryan asked, looking over at Igor who was already dialing in the usual radio frequencies the Russian Air Force used. He found one frequency with a pilot speaking a short sentence in Russian. The speaker was within 400 miles of the base, so it had to be the same aircraft.
“Say again, I didn’t copy,” said Igor in Russian over the channel, and the speaker said his initial sentence that his aircraft still had 1,990 kilometers of range, and that the destination was still dead ahead.
“What destination?” asked Ryan, once Igor had translated what had gone over the radio. The Russian shrugged his shoulders.
“Somewhere within 1,200 miles,” he responded.
“Six aircraft heading directly toward your airfield, 20 miles from entering your perimeter,” said Michael Pitt 20 minutes later in English over the same frequency the Russian aircraft were using. America One had already disappeared over the eastern horizon.
“Unidentified aircraft, you are about to enter a restricted area. We have lasers trained on all your aircraft and will fire if you do not respond,” said Igor in Russian. There was no response as the aircraft entered to within 150 miles of the airfield.
“Warn them one more time,” Ryan ordered Igor, and he did. This time he got a response.
“They do not know about this restricted zone. They are Antonov An-12’s, old transport aircraft like the U.S. C-130, and are heading to Kano, Nigeria,” Igor replied.
“Tell them they are in a restricted area, and to change their heading immediately to 270 degrees,” Ryan ordered. Again the answer was the same, and they knew nothing about the new restricted zone.
Ryan, Igor, and Captain Pete had made sure a dozen times that their new restricted area had gone out to all countries around them, and especially to the Americans, Russians and Chinese. Now they were running a bluff; it was dark out there in the desert. What should he do? They were now within 140 miles, and well within missile range.
Over the other radio, he heard The Dead Chicken taxiing for taking off as the Chinook with Bob Mathews and Commander Joot flying returned to the crater. His wife Kathy with Max Burgos and Ryan’s daughters aboard Jonesy’s Gulfstream had minutes earlier taken off for Tel Aviv in Israel. The Dead Chicken, with Beth and her copilot, was heading in that direction as well, and Martin Brusk in Ryan’s jet was already there.
“SB-I, you have their heat trails on your screens?” Ryan asked in English over the Russian channel.
“Affirmative, all four engines of all six aircraft, over,” Penny Pitt replied. She was watching the incoming aircraft through the infrared and heat cameras aboard the shuttle.
“Antonov Alfa November 12s, Russian origin, you have ten seconds to turn your aircraft to starboard on a heading of 270 degrees, or we will shoot you down,” said Ryan into his mobile radio, then he passed it over to Igor, who said the order twice in Russian.
said Penny Pitt.
“SB-I, lock onto the lead aircraft and take out its outer starboard engine. Maybe that will change their minds. Wait for my order, over,” ordered Ryan, and Igor again translated it into Russian.
“All six aircraft making a beeline for the ground. I assume they are hoping to hide, descending through altitude 8,900 feet, laser locked, Ryan.”
“Fire,” responded Ryan.
“Three blasts at half power, all fired…..engine or something hit on second blast, I saw a small heat explosion, something weird on my radar, Ryan. Dozens of minor heat sources are falling out the rear of all six aircraft. Looks like anti-missile debris or something,” Penny responded in Matt.
“SB–I, second lead aircraft, take out its outer starboard engine,” continued Ryan in English.
“Confirm lock on second aircraft’s outer starboard,” replied Penny back in English, a few seconds later.
Again Ryan ordered fire, and this time once Penny had said that she had seen an explosion, the six aircraft began turning onto a new heading of 270 degrees, which would take them westwards and out of Ryan’s restricted zone. What worried Ryan, Jonesy, all the Air Force pilots, and VIN Noble was that the aircraft had turned only 70 miles from the airfield. Even then, they all breathed a sigh of relief. It didn’t seem the Russians wanted to nuke the area.
“All six aircraft now at 5,000 feet, the formation has slowed to just under 300 knots, and they will be out of our area in about ten minutes. I’m heading over the horizon,” said Michael Pitt in Matt as they went off the air.
Thirty minutes later, and with the six aircraft now out of Ryan’s area and heading north, Captain Pete returned above their part of the planet. He had heard the conversation through SB-I’s radio.
“America One, we could have an attack from the Russians,” said Ryan in Matt to a much smaller group of people still thinking what or why the Russians, who knew they were being spoken to, had kept radio silence, had ejected something over the desert, and then done as ordered and headed out of the area. “America One, increase altitude rapidly from 200 to 350 miles.”
What had made Jonesy and the rest of the former U.S. Air Force pilots really think, was that the aircraft hadn’t continued in the direction of Nigeria, but had headed back the way they had come.
“Copy that Desert Control,” replied Captain Pete. “All six aircraft heading out of Libya, currently over Benghazi, and on the opposite heading I saw them arrive on. I saw the six aircraft two orbits prior, heading southeast over Istanbul. On the second orbit I picked them up heading over the Med. I didn’t think it necessary to warn you on the first pass, over.”
“Roger that,” responded Ryan. “The aircraft dropped something. Can you tighten down your cameras, especially the heat cameras to an area 70 to 80 miles northwest of the base around the following latitude and longitude coordinates sent to us from SB-I?” Ryan sent him the coordinates from the control room’s main computer.
“Wait one,” replied Captain Pete, and he went off the air for a good ten minutes. “Confirm heat sources, possibly human beings between 75 and 77 miles from your airfield. I count 200 heat sources, moving on foot and slowly joining up. They are not heading in any direction yet, over.”
“Copy that. Let us know what is happening on your next orbit, out,” said Ryan. “So what are we going to do with 200 Russian paratroopers?” Ryan asked. “Igor?”
“Well, Captain Pete said that they seem to be on foot, not mobile. Mr. Noble, how long does it take a special soldier to walk 70 miles in the desert?” he asked, not being a military man.
“Twenty miles a day, maybe 25 if they walk two shifts a day, say, seven to eight hours per shift,” said VIN. We worked out in Force Recon that if walking through tough desert-sand conditions, an extremely fit soldier could cover about 2 miles an hour. With a hard-packed surface, few inclines, 3 to 4 miles an hour, and flat conditions with hard pack, say, 5 miles an hour. Any faster than that, the hours need to be reduced. They will be heavy with food and water. So at best, with an extremely flat, hard surface, seventy-five miles could be done in 40 to 48 hours. Anybody know the conditions out there northwest of us?”
“America One to Ground Control, second possible attack. Twenty-eight aircraft have just taken off from Karachi in India. I think I saw them three passes ago heading over the China/India/Pakistan border. These guys are larger and faster, jets for sure cruising at 470 knots, climbing through 20,000 feet, distance from you 2,840 miles. You have about 5 hours. Any ideas, Jonesy, Allen?”
“As soon as we land two shuttles, all hell breaks loose. Igor, how long before SB-III and SB-II are ready for launch?”
“SB-III, four to five hours. SB-II, twelve hours for full fuel, boss.” Igor replied.
“Air Force pilots, what long-range aircraft could the Chinese throw at us?” Ryan asked the men and women around him.
“Xian H-6 or IIyushin II-86,” said Allen Saunders.
“The second is Russian, not Chinese,” said Igor.
“Correct, Igor,” smiled Allen Saunders, “but the Chinese have used several types of Russian aircraft and helicopters for decades now, and it looks like nobody has reinvented the wheel producing many new aircraft. Even the United States Air Force used a couple of II-86s at one time for fighting forest fires. When we left Earth ten years ago, all these aircraft were still fairly new. These could be unmanned aircraft, but I don’t believe they have any other modifications, apart from more modern weapons. I can tell that by the speed they are flying.”
“Allen, I’d say H-6s more likely. Longer range, but let me do my math. I don’t see how they could fly here, bomb or give us a missile strike, and return to Pakistan or India. Just too far, even for an H-6.” Jones did his math. “Say, loaded with missiles, they could return to Tehran. With heavier bombs, more like Syria, a far shorter distance. If I remember my foreign aircraft, I think the H-6 had a thousand miles more range than the Russian II-86s.”
“So they are expecting to either bomb us or throw missiles at us?” Ryan asked.
“Only the Japanese were kamikazes, so bombs, standoff missiles, or possibly a laser, but not much else,” Jonesy replied.
“Can we stop a standoff missile attack?” Ryan then asked.
“Not at close range between 200 and 150 miles,” Jonesy added with Allen nodding his agreement.
“Their most modern CM-802 AKG missiles were about a year away from production when I left Nellis. If I remember, they had about a 180 mile range and packed a 300 to 400 high-explosive warhead nuke or high explosive, I believe. The earlier models were meant for ships, and their latest, the AKG, were designed to hit land targets. I just hope they don’t have nukes aboard. With 28 aircraft, two to six weapons per bomber, that would be the end of us. I don’t believe they will risk nukes. The whole world would retaliate. I’d say we must wait and destroy their aircraft as soon as they enter our airspace, even if they are going to nuke us,” Allen suggested. Everyone nodded to that one.
Ryan called up Israel, then Tripoli, and got the same answer. Nobody was going to fight Ryan’s war this time. The Israelis said that there was nothing they could do if the aircraft didn’t fly over their territory. The Libyans had a business friendship with Moscow and Beijing, and didn’t want to take part. Australia was too far away to get fighters into the area, and the ground troops were of no use at all. Therefore, Ryan had to fight this battle alone.
“What is our best defense against the incoming aircraft?” Ryan asked.
“The shuttles with shields, and laser fire,” replied Jonesy simply. Allen and Maggie agreed with that one.
“We can use one shuttle for defense, but I think taking our new civilians out of any possible fire fight is extremely important,” added Jonesy. Ryan and the others nodded, and Ryan ordered Igor to go and prepare the two shuttles for separate missions.
“What can we do about the Russians on the ground?” Ryan then asked.
“The two Bradleys are out there and fully armed,” said VIN. “We check out the depth of the sand, and the terrain at dawn, and prepare to repel invaders from orbit as well as here around the crater. The incoming aircraft will be here before dawn, the men on the ground in a day or three’s time. We are extremely lucky that this is not a coordinated attack.”
Jonesy’s father and Bob Mathews entered. Both looked tired but happy. “We have hit something solid,” Bob happily said to Ryan and the crew, not knowing what was about to happen.
Ryan told them everything, including that Bob would have to wait for daybreak before the hard surface could be checked out. Bob wanted to continue, and it was suggested that the area be cleared even more. Both men happily exited, but not before Jonesy told his father that they were launching in four hours, and the entire Jones family would be on the next flight out.
As Michael Pitt and Captain Pete orbited hour after hour, they gave Ryan and his crew the latest information. The men on the ground walked now in long lines, marching toward the base seventy miles away. The incoming aircraft were slow, on a low cruise, still heading in the general direction of the base, and would reach the area three hours before dawn.
Allen and Jamie Saunders were happy to depart for this new op. They had enough fuel on board, the shield extended, and they took off two hours before the contact time. Now understanding how the shuttle responded inside the shield, Allen and Jamie flew the shuttle 320 miles east of the airfield, within ten miles of the Red Sea, and just within the Egyptian side of the border with Sudan. Allen found a flat and quiet piece of desert, set SB-II down on the sand, and waited. His only radio contact was with the craft orbiting in space.
An hour later Captain Pete, in English, warned the incoming aircraft. There was no response on any of the frequencies tried. The aircraft had maintained radio silence and were now over the Red Sea, and only 50 miles from the African coast.
Ryan’s main dilemma was that the flight could still have nothing to do with him; but 28 bombers in formation, that was a strike force. If Ryan wanted to stay within international law, he could not really attack aircraft unless they had first violated his no-fly zone. At further than 150 miles, they could release missiles aimed for the airstrip, then turn away back out of danger.
Apart from the two Dewars of liquids in holes in the desert soil, the only supplies he still had on the airfield was the building equipment the Americans had left behind, the new empty hangars and the runway itself. Even the two Bradleys and the two jeeps had been driven to the new supply site fifteen miles from the airfield.
As long as any missiles weren’t aimed at the crater, and they weren’t nuclear, there wouldn’t be much loss, other than if the runway was damaged, the shuttles could not reenter unless the runway was repaired or Jonesy attempted a full shield reentry. Maybe the time had come, Ryan reckoned.
Captain Pete had monitored the incoming formation of aircraft on his pass. All 28 aircraft were flying at 45,000 feet and at 490 knots, first flying along the borders of Saudi Arabia and Oman, and then the Saudi Arabia and Yemen border. Nobody had responded to the flight of foreign aircraft.
Once they reached the Red Sea, their course changed north northwest.
“They are certainly flying on high cruise,” said Jonesy, already in SB-III. He and Maggie were helping the last of the passengers in one by one. It was a full flight. All the new crewmembers were aboard, which filled up the crew compartment in the forward hold. Five of the adults had the smallest children seat-belted on their laps, which had given room for Suzi, Dr. Nancy and Mars Noble to join the full flight. Jonesy’s mother was sitting in the front row with Saturn, Suzi, Dr. Nancy, and the U.S. President’s daughter.
Excitement abounded in the forward crew compartment. In the aft hold was half a ton of cargo; equipment, mostly new electronics and computers for the mother ship. Joseph Jones was happy with Mars Noble to take the two rear jump seats in the cockpit. Jonesy’s exhausted father was not going to miss this flight with his son flying for anything in the world.
Commander Joot, alone in his cargo-loaded craft, and Elder Roo, with Max Burgos as copilot in the second heavy Matt craft full with a cargo of ethanol, took off as Maggie readied the spacecraft on the ground, idling and warming the thrusters. Both Maggie and Jonesy had done a vertical takeoff now dozens of times, and it was as usual as a commercial flight, which this one was.
Michael Pitt was just about to head over the western horizon as the 28 aircraft flew over the Africa Continent, 50 miles south of Allen Saunders and into Sudanese airspace.
To the bridge aboard America One watching everything down below, this flight was certainly trying to stay hidden. Allen Saunders took off with his shield extended and stealthily caught up to the bombers several thousand feet above him just before they entered Libya. They were descending through 28,000 feet and would pass a couple of miles in front of him at 20,000 feet in about ten minutes. He certainly wasn’t on their radars.
Nobody would see either of the Matt craft, as their shields would hide them until space.
Ryan was unsure whether the incoming aircraft would train their weapons on SB-III when she took off, but Jonesy with the shield already extended was heading over the crater lip to return the 30 miles to the airstrip. Ryan didn’t want to let anybody watching know where the shuttles were based.
Jonesy landed ten minutes later, retracted the shield and readied for launch as Michael Pitt shouted “missile launch” into his microphone. “Missile launch from all 28 aircraft. I’m counting about six per aircraft, three from each wing. That is 168 missiles coming your way, Jonesy. Missiles at about Mach .09 and incoming fast. ETA 16 minutes at current speed. Aircraft turning away, I say again, all aircraft turning away, over.”
“SB-I, SB-II, laser as many missiles as you can. SB-III, get out of there,” shouted Ryan.
“SB-III launching now. Goodbye Earth and nasty citizens of Earth. Until next time,” said Jonesy calmly, and with his father behind him, launched at 100 percent power, and gritting his teeth, lifted out of danger.
Got one, two…three,” said Penny Pitt. “There are just too many, and they are going down to hug the terrain. It is not easy to get a lock on them…four kills…five.”
“One, 2…3…4…6…7….9…10 kills. Laser on 50 second pause,” said Jamie Saunders right behind the missiles heading to ground level. It was easy for her to lock onto their rear heat signatures only a couple of miles behind as Allen saw numerous explosions ahead and below them. Both shuttles had their lasers cooling and already locked onto three or four missiles. The lasers couldn’t fire fast enough.
“Seventeen hits, fifty second laser pause, all 28 aircraft flying east past my position. Missiles now hugging the desert. It’s getting harder for me as well, over,” added Penny.
“Three minutes until we come over the horizon,” added Michael Pitt.
“Two more 50-second opportunities and we are done,” added Penny.
Within the three minutes, she blasted 17 more before SB-I headed out of sight. By this time, Jonesy was at 69,000 feet, already vertical, hanging upside down and heading into the upper atmosphere.
“Prepare for incoming,” shouted Ryan to anybody in earshot. Igor was controlling Jonesy, Bob Mathews was still digging in his hole, and there were several technicians in the crater who had decided to enter the operations room, grab a coffee, and with VIN, listen to the excitement. If any, even one of the warheads, were nuclear, it didn’t really matter anyway.
Fifty-eight was Jamie Saunders’s last tally before the first missile, heading in at 300 feet above the desert and just under the speed of sound, hit the ground several hundred feet from the runway and buildings. The blast blew a crater twenty feet deep into the hard desert sand. Then came a crescendo of noise that hit the crew in the crater a few minutes later when over seventy 400-pound warheads turned Ryan’s new airfield into scrap. The two remaining Dewars filled with liquid hydrogen were hit, and massive fireballs erupted into the night sky. Jonesy could see the explosions hanging upside down nearly 1,000 miles away.
To the east, the night sky above the crater looked like daylight as the men sat there waiting to be exterminated. With nothing much to do, they held their breath until the final explosion happened less than 20 seconds after the first one. Then they all sighed with relief; they were still alive.
Captain Pete missed the fireworks by ten minutes, but still saw tiny fires raging in the Sahara as China launched 200 cubes into space.
Penny Pitt, her laser ready and now directly over China, pushed her weapon to full strength, and with Ryan’s blessing, began flattening the area from where the cubes had taken off. Once the dozen or so sites had fires raging as big as in the Sahara, she began in Beijing, hitting one government building, then another.
It didn’t take long before a dozen nuclear missiles this time headed up from China. A minute later a second dozen, and then a third dozen erupted from silos all over the large country. She calmly turned her attention to the several computer coordinates from where the missiles had launched from, and blasted the launch sites before heading over the horizon. She must have hit something, as there was a massive fireball of an explosion ten times the size of the blaze on the desert, and in the middle of nowhere, as she headed over the horizon.
Maggie extended their shield. Already in orbit, she would leave their weapon out and would work on the climbing missiles on the next pass. Captain Pete and his laser had much work to do, and he could only see the missiles once they were halfway into space and the first twelve were coming directly toward him. Sounding action stations, Boris began locking onto the approaching missiles, and one by one they disintegrated, some still in Earth’s upper atmosphere. It seemed only one was active, and a massive nuclear explosion lit up the sky over China at about 140,000 feet.
The cubes could destroy themselves against the shields, but the nuclear missiles were another matter. Ignoring the cubes, Boris aimed and locked onto one missile after the other. He counted 21 hits before Penny Pitt 10,000 miles behind the mother ship could lend a hand. It was a harder at this distance, as her lasers actually had to pass through the Earth’s atmosphere, but she managed five hits before Maggie came into sight.
As planned, Captain Pete was increasing altitude. America One was presently at 270 miles above Earth, and Maggie, at 110 miles, could begin blasting the nukes as they climbed up after the ship.
Ryan, down below, could do nothing but listen in to the shouts, orders and commands coming from above him. That was until Allen Saunders came back online.
“All 28 aircraft now over the Red Sea,” he said to Ryan in Matt via Captain Pete’s crew on the bridge far above them. SB-II and Ryan were out of range of each other, apart for their messages being relayed as the battle above intensified.
“All craft in space,” commandeered Captain Pete. “There could be cube strikes on your craft within the next 30 minutes, depending on your altitude. All incoming missiles are destroyed. Extend shields and good luck. Relayed message, Sierra Bravo II, message from Ryan. Follow the aircraft and destroy one every five minutes, until your fuel is low, then return to base. Once the cubes hit, we can continue blasting the aircraft all the way back to China from up here.”
“Roger, copy that. Laser hitting the first aircraft now,” replied Allen Saunders.
The first Chinese bomber crew, thinking that they had got away, were shocked when the tail of their aircraft began to disintegrate and the empty bomber went into a slow spiral. They managed to get a short message out before the darkness of the night engulfed them and the million parts of their aircraft. Immediately, the other aircraft turned due north toward Syria, far closer than Karachi where they seemed to be heading.
Once Ryan learned of the change in direction, the formation heading up the Red Sea, he closed down the destruction to three minutes per aircraft.
Three aircraft later, the pilots knew their fate was sealed and dropped down to low altitudes, and at their slowest speeds possible, ejected out of the metal coffins about to disintegrate around them.
Commander Joot was shocked when the first of dozens of explosions rocked his shield around him. So were Jonesy and the Pitts, far lower than America One. The cubes had found easy targets, and within hours of the first strike, only three hit the shield around the mother ship six hours later.
Now it was time to show the Chinese government the fury of America One.
Chapter 9
Good Riddance
Ryan waited until Allen said that he needed to return. Captain Pete gave him his direction to get back to the crater. Within ten minutes SB-II could see the massive fires raging on the airfield.
“Captain Pete, all craft in space, I want every air base, every space base, and every government building in every city in China blasted over the next 36 hours. Then we will start on Russia,” commanded Ryan in English over as many radio frequencies possible.
“Why do you want to hit Moscow? We have done nothing.” Captain Pete heard a Russian voice several minutes later in English.
Captain Pete said that the 200 Russian paratroopers heading for the destroyed base had one hour to turn back, or they would be terminated. He heard nothing more, and the 200 tiny heat sources were still heading toward the airfield until the sun made their heat signatures nearly disappear with the warming sand.
“Twelve more missile launches, and I count thirty cube launches. It looks like from the middle of six high density Chinese cities,” said Captain Pete next.
“Keep your lasers tight. I don’t want to kill civilians,” Ryan replied as he saw Allen Saunders in SB-II, still with his shield extended, return to the crater. “Allen, you still fit to fly?”
“Roger, but not in this bird. We are down to 3 percent fuel.”
“Copy that. Head for the Chinook. Mr. Noble is positioning a heavy machine gun inside the rear ramp. I want you to fly Mr. Noble, Igor and me over the airfield then over to the area where the Russians are. I want to warn them not to come any closer. Bob Mathews is moving the last of the sand around the small door area into the Matt base. He needs several hours, so let’s go and warn those Russian guys.
As every laser in space destroyed incoming missiles, or melted bases, aircraft, cube launchers, military bases, and government installations across China, the Chinook headed out.
To the new crewmembers inside SB-III’s forward crew compartment it was party time. Dr. Nancy had warned them what to expect, and not knowing about the battles around them, allowed the new crew to undo their seatbelts and float for the first time in their lives.
All were wearing plain brown flight suits. Several dozen had been delivered a week earlier by the Royal Australian Air Force.
There were yelps and cries of amazement as people floated out of control around the compartment. Dr. Nancy, Suzi and Saturn Jones did their best to control the excited crew. Only Mrs. Jones had not left her seat, and was staring at the others, totally amazed, her hair standing straight up. She didn’t move until Mars Noble and her husband floated through from the cockpit and the door was shut behind them. They unbelted her and she floated up to join them on each side of her.
“Oh my, I’m sure my hair is a mess!” was all she could say as she floated out of her seat.
Mars and Saturn opened a cooler placed on each side of the compartment and began giving out pouches of food and drink to the crew as they floated by. Fresh pouches of orange juice, scrambled eggs, potato soup and even minced spaghetti with a red sauce came from the stores NASA had been asked to supply. The newbies had to be taught how to eat in space.
There had been a space toilet mounted on the flight from Mars into the rear of the compartment, and once they had learned how to eat in space, one by one the newbies were given instruction on how to use it.
Meanwhile Jonesy and Maggie flattened parts of China as SB-III passed overhead. The Asian part of Earth was already getting dark, the computers still had a couple of hundred targets to be engaged, and the whole of China had hundreds of fires raging. The fires could be seen from space, and China was twice as bright as any other country once night closed in.
To the crew aboard the Chinook, the late afternoon sun brought total destruction of their new base. There was nothing left, and the whole area looked like dozens of meteors had all hit in the same area. Allen Saunders still reckoned that there were a few hundred feet of untouched runway remaining, and hovering above the ground, in between the smoke rising everywhere, discussed with his wife and Ryan whether the Dead Chicken could ever return. It was close, but possible with a very light load.
They landed and searched the whole area, and then walked the short, undestroyed part of the runway. The whole airfield looked like the end of the world. The hangars were all gone, only the odd steel beam stood here and there. The actual runway area looked like a kid with bad acne. It was surprising how much damage could be done in so little time. Where the last two liquid hydrogen containers had stood were holes thirty feet deep, blown right into hard rock. The same situation prevailed with the third hangar, which had held the rest of the ammunition flown in by the Dead Chicken. Here, there was absolutely nothing left apart from fires and smoldering piles of fire-resistant materials. Where the hangar had stood it was still too hot and smoky to get closer than 100 feet. With two to three hours of daylight left, they flew halfway back to the crater and quickly inspected the equipment they had saved. The hydrogen containers were fine under tarps. There was a load of food, a couple of still cold deep freezes, and a ton or so of food, clothing, gasoline, the two Bradleys and jeeps, diesel, water, and ammunition and several dozen drums of fuel for the Chinook. This was all the stores they had left, as there wasn’t much left in the crater.
Ryan became really angry. What a waste of work by two countries. What a waste of valuable supplies and equipment. What a waste this planet was, with the types of leaders running these countries. He was tired of being Mr. Nice Guy.
During the next hour they topped up the helicopter, and then left for the latest Russian position.
Captain Pete led them to where the Russian troops were. As expected, they went to ground and tried to bury themselves when they heard the Chinook’s rotors, but Captain Pete high above could still see the 200 hot glows in the already cooling sand. The dusk was about an hour over the eastern horizon.
“Place her there,” said Ryan, pointing to a small semi-flat rocky outcrop. He had taken off his white T-shirt under his flight suit and had it in his right hand. “If they shoot me, destroy the whole of Russia,” he ordered Captain Pete and the crew in the Chinook.
“I’m going with you,” said VIN.
“You need an interpreter, not a soldier, Ryan,” said Igor.
“Mr. Noble, you man the machine gun. Igor, you come with me. Mr. Saunders, hover about 500 feet behind me and at about a hundred feet altitude with the machine gun pointing over my head. I want to talk to these Russians. I have had enough, and if they want to shoot me holding up a white cloth, then they are not fit to live either.”
“A rather stupid move, but you are the boss,” replied Allen.
“This is an official Libyan Air Force helicopter. I don’t believe they will fire on a Libyan helicopter in their own territory. They will be signing their own death warrants,” returned Ryan angrily. That seemed to appease the pilot.
Once the Chinook had the positions of the most forward men hidden in the sand about 300 yards away from the rocky outcrop and well within sniper distance, it landed. The Russians watched as two men exited the rear ramp wearing what looked like flight suits, and the helicopter headed away, a machine gun and gunner pointing out of its still open rear ramp directly at their position.
As the chopper headed away from the two men, one used a megaphone and spoke their language while the other held a white cloth above his head and between his upraised hands.
“We know 200 men are directly in front of us hiding in the sand. We want to know why you are here on Libyan territory. Will your commander please come forward?”
Nothing happened for a minute. The two men weren’t shot, and nobody in the sand moved.
“There are 2,000 Libyan soldiers who will arrive here tomorrow with the entire Libyan Air Force. If you want to live, somebody come forward, or we will leave you to your fate, certain death, tomorrow,” bluffed Igor.
Ryan’s arms, still above his head, were beginning to hurt, when a piece of sand moved and two men got up less than 300 feet directly in front of them. The sun was losing its strength, the shadows long and the light perfect to see the two camouflaged men slowly walk toward the outcrop. They held AK 47s, had water bottles fixed to their belts around their waists, and had their ammo on shoulder straps. They were lightly armed for attack troops.
The two men, sunburnt and their faces unshaven, stopped twenty feet in front of the two unarmed men. They said nothing.
“You are in foreign territory. We saw your six aircraft drop you. We assume you are heading toward the new desert airfield 65 miles southwest of here. I suggest you turn around and go home. The base was completely destroyed by Chinese missiles this morning. There is nothing left. So, if you want transport out of here, I will have Libyan Air Force helicopters here tomorrow morning to evacuate you to an airfield on the coast. We will alert the Russian Air Force to pick you up. Or you can fight and die here tomorrow morning. Which one will it be?”
“You say the airfield is completely destroyed?” one of the men asked.
“Da, seventy large missiles can do a lot of damage. Didn’t you see the light on the horizon about two hours before dawn?”
The man replied that they had seen the attack.
“We have just flown over the area. It looks worse than an atomic explosion. We don’t know why you are here, but you are unwelcome in Libya, and I am here to ask you politely to leave. Tomorrow morning, the incoming forces will not be so polite.”
Igor, and Ryan, who hadn’t said a word since prepping Igor before they had landed, watched as the two men conversed about what they had just been told.
“If the airfield has been destroyed, we no longer have a mission. We accept your invitation to return to the coast,” was the reply.
“Stay around this outcrop. Libyan helicopters will be here just after dawn to evacuate you to your connection point. The Russian government will be notified.”
With that Igor waved the helicopter back, and Ryan lowered his shirt. Ten minutes later the Chinook climbed into the dark sky to radio in to the closest Libyan base to ask for the evacuation of 200 Russian troops to an airfield, and to ask the Russian government to come and get them.
Ryan felt better. Not a drop of blood had been spilled, and he was happy to return to the Pig’s Snout in one piece.
“A brave but stupid move in my book,” said a tired Allen Saunders after several cold beers had been opened.
Bob Mathews had started a barbecue, and the meat smelled really good when the chopper had come in to land. The aromas made everybody’s mouth water. Even Ryan, who had been a vegetarian now for several years, had the desperate urge to taste what was cooking.
Over dinner and cold Budweisers, the remaining dozen crew sat around a fire, the last fire with the wood they had previously lifted over from the now burnt-out airfield.
“I agree, but I’m so tired of all this stupid fighting. I just wanted to tell them to go home. I suppose it was rather risky, but soldiers are still soldiers. They can be trusted far more than politicians, and what would you have done in their position, Mr. Noble?”
“Being found is enough of a bummer. Asked to leave or face certain death is another,” replied VIN, smiling.
“Located in a foreign country illegally, and somebody else already cancelling their mission, I believe, that is what changed their mind,” added Igor. “They might be tough Russian troops, but they are not stupid enough to die for nothing.”
Even though he had lost his airfield, Ryan felt lighter and enjoyed the evening, especially when Bob Mathews told him that the small door into the underground cavern was clear and ready to be inspected.
Commander Joot and Elder Roo were told that they could enter their old home in the morning.
Chapter 10
The Cavern
Early the next morning and minutes after they could see the ground, Ryan, Igor, the two Matts and VIN headed down the long slope into the hole.
Over the meal, talking and ultimately a party the evening before, Bob Mathews had been told to stay away from entering the Matt cavern or he would have to be kidnapped into space. To him and his two crew on Earth, fishing was far more important, and he was happy not to see what had been uncovered. Bob would be leaving in an hour or two anyway. He was to fly down in the Chinook and leave it at the new supply dump, as an Israeli helicopter was coming in from Israel to pick him up from there and return him to Tel Aviv.
There, he would organize to get Kathy and Max Burgos across the equator and into the southern hemisphere in Jonesy’s Gulfstream when the time came. Its range for Kathy and the two girls was far better than Ryan’s own aircraft. Bob was to offer Ryan’s own Gulfstream to Israel in return for jet fuel and for leveling the pockmarked runway so that the Dead Chicken could land one more time. They were moving.
Bob’s love for the sport made Ryan remember to give the Jones family some valuable fishing time as well. With the Chinese blasted, the Russians having to pick up their team of attackers, and the U.S. who had already felt the sting of Ryan’s lasers, he hoped that he and his crew could be left alone for the near future.
He was getting sick of being bullied, and he hoped that the destruction going on in China would give him the peace on Earth he wanted. He had also changed his mind to take the Australians up on their offer. In the morning he would send word via Bob to organize the offered base in Australia’s Gibson Desert. Doug had been told that the airfield needed a bit of work, and the crater had supplies for only one more week, ten days at most, so the Aussies could have some time to get it refurbished. He had also realized that he wouldn’t need 10,000 feet of runway anymore; the shuttles would be using the shields in the future.
“There is the door,” shouted Commander Joot excitedly as they neared the clean area. Ryan and VIN peered at the white steel-looking roof that had been uncovered.
“Titanium oxide,” said Ryan to VIN.
“Even titanium rusts over time,” added Igor. “Most people don’t know that titanium rusts, although far slower than steel, and its rust is white, not brown.”
He and Ryan knelt down and cleared the thin white powder about half an inch deep. Below it, the thick metal door was just as white.
“Ten thousand years to rust half an inch,” Ryan said.
“Well, underneath damp sand I wouldn’t know if that was quicker or slower than being underwater, or in salt water,” replied Igor. “Even aluminum rusts,” he told VIN. “Except that aluminum oxide is a clear substance.”
“Is America One rusting?” asked VIN. Igor smiled.
“No VIN, not in space, but you bring up a good point. We wanted to fill the shield around the mother ship with an atmosphere. We better do some tests before we try that again,” Igor replied, looking at Ryan.
Ryan nodded.
“What is this white dust? What is happening to our cavern roof?” asked Commander Joot, and for several minutes Ryan and Igor told the two Matts something they didn’t know, while VIN swept away the dust from the area the door was supposed to be.
“Don’t open the door, Elder Roo,” ordered Ryan when he saw Elder Roo close his eyes and begin to concentrate.
“Why not?” asked Commander Joot, looking at Ryan questioningly.
“The air in there is around 10,000 years old. It could be poisonous,” replied Ryan.
“Shall we get into our spacesuits?” Elder Roo asked.
“Actually, our suits are the only tools to analyze air we have with us. I believe that at least two of us dressed in spacesuits should go in first to test what is in there. Will there be light inside the cavern, Commander?” Ryan asked.
“Yes, it should be automatic when the door opens, or there is movement in there. The walls are the same as in all our bases: the silver glowing ‘Pop Gam’ we call the material.”
“Yes, I think we Homo sapiens are now calling it ‘Mattium,’” smiled Ryan at the commander. “A mix of platinum, cobalt, nickel, osmium, palladium, iridium, and a few others if I correctly remembered what our chemistry lab called it.” Commander Joot smiled; he got the joke, but Elder Roo didn’t.
VIN and Elder Roo ran back up the slope to help each other fit on their suits. There was nobody else to help them in the near empty base. The others were either refueling SB-II or doing other chores.
Within 30 minutes they returned. Walking down the dirt slope in a full suit reminded VIN of being on DX2014, when Maggie had first found the diamonds. She had walked down a slope much the same, just far shorter. VIN handed Ryan his mobile radio.
“You in there, Mr. Noble?” asked Ryan.
“Yes sir,” replied VIN, standing to attention. “All the flesh, metal, batteries, bones and brains of one Lieutenant VIN Noble, Marines, Force Recon, sir,” he said, saluting.
“It seems our men are ready for the unknown commander,” continued Ryan. “How do we open the door?” Commander Joot closed his eyes and his face became serious with concentration.
Suddenly came a sound of metal grating on metal, and slowly the door began to move. First the white solid door area lifted up nearly a foot. Ryan could see that it was being raised on arms beneath the door, hydraulics by the look of the two arms. The whole door, about four feet wide and six feet long, was thick, a whole foot thick. It had to be to be able to carry the hundreds of tons of sand that had sifted above it. The door slowly reached its apex and then began sliding over the rest of the roof.
Commander Joot had really cleaned this area while waiting for the two suits to return. Still, there was a screeching sound as metal grated on a few sand particles left.
The entire operation took a whole minute, and as the door stopped screeching, light could be seen brightening from inside the hole. The commander had opened the door with his mind.
“I know the three of you can mentally chat to one another, but I would still like to be in on the discussions,” asked Ryan.
“Sorry Ryan,” replied Joot. “I was telling the two youngsters that there are stairs leading down, three flights of eighteen stairs down exactly forty feet to the ground floor. Once they reach head level, I wanted a report from Elder Roo on what he could see. You said that the air could be dangerous, so I’m not sticking my head in there. You are right; the air coming up really smells bad.”
“Mr. Noble, go inside the cavern. I want a readout before the commander and I keel over. It certainly stinks.”
Elder Roo was held back by VIN, who entered first, walking down the small steps. He was used to them, as they were the same size as he had found in all the caverns so far. Even the same railings were there, and he was astounded by how big the underground cavern was when he could peer inside.
“Nitrogen levels, high and dangerous. I suggest you back away up the slope for 30 minutes or so. I can tell you what I find until the air clears. Low amounts of oxygen, a high helium level, although breathable for us. Carbon dioxide, extremely high, three times danger level. Carbon monoxide, zero. I suggest you stay far away until the airs have had a chance to mix. Elder Roo, let’s go.”
Ryan and Igor were already feeling dizzy from the bad air and they and the commander headed back up the slope.
“I hear you, Commander. I can only see two ships. One is in parts and looks like it might have been broken up for spares,” Ryan heard over the radio.
“Sorry Ryan, I had to know how many spaceships there were in there, and I’m breathing too hard to talk,” said the commander in gasps as they walked up the slope.
They reached the surface pulling poor Igor. He was still the weakest among them. All three breathed hard and sat on the old stairs leading up to the lip of the crater. They were certainly not as fit as they should be.
“Commander?” asked Ryan, once he could get his breath.
“Two ships instead of three, one is broken, one is missing. I believe it could be the Ruler’s ship that is missing. He must still be out there in space somewhere. I had a very slight feeling that there was somebody else on DX2017, but I could not speak to them. Maybe there was a new flight cavern made on our transport planet, and it was made after I was lost on Titan,” Commander Joot suggested.
“Funny, I had the same feeling,” added Elder Roo.
“Me too!” said VIN excitedly. “Commander Joot, for me it was strongest when you took off from DX2017, out of the cavern. I thought I could hear somebody mumbling, like in their sleep.”
“Impossible, as my Supreme Ruler must be very cold and asleep on the transport planet,” Commander Joot replied excitedly. “Maybe he was flying out to find us. Yes, I remember now. Before I left the Pig’s Snout for the last time, Supreme Ruler Pong designed a crew compartment for himself in one of the spacecraft for long periods of flight. Yes! Yes! It is all coming back to me. I have forgotten so much. Being here brings back memories.”
“It’s called old age,” remarked VIN from far below.
“Then your forgetfulness will begin shortly, Tall Metal Person,” joked Commander Joot. Ryan rolled his eyes at that one. Jonesy had certainly started something by giving the old man a sense of humor. “I think that maybe Ruler Pong finished his design and came out to find us. I think I visualized once three flight caverns on the transport planet, but I always thought it my imagination.”
“Or somebody was telling you telepathically?” suggested VIN.
“Yes, that’s it. Maybe Ruler Pong had a new system, something he was communicating with. Like your speaking and listening boxes.”
“Radios, like this?” asked Ryan holding out his mobile radio. “It could be possible that he had a telepathic recorded message going out to anybody looking for him.”
These days, for Ryan nothing was impossible. Nobody in his crew thought inside the box anymore.
“Tell me where you are and what you see,” said Joot.
“First of all, three gases still at danger levels but changing for the better,” continued VIN. “Apart for the two aircraft I can see the glowing walls all around us. The temperature in here has risen from 55 degrees to 61 degrees, so the outside air is coming in. It is bigger than an aircraft carrier’s hangar in here.”
“Hot air rises, so it could be some time before it is safe for us,” added Igor.
“I can see work benches and parts of spacecraft hanging on lines,” continued VIN. “There are several steel beds, and what looks like a kitchen or cooking area way off on the opposite side. Much of the area has mounds of dust like we found in the other caverns. Only metal skeletons remain. Also, Ryan, Igor, this level only covers about half of the crater area.”
“You are only seeing the aircraft cavern. There are still two floors beneath you twice as large,” added Joot.
“Better open them up, Commander,” Ryan suggested.
“They should be open. Elder Roo, walk to the kitchen area. There should be an open door with a metal staircase. The staircase will have the same three flights of stairs to the next floor, and then a second exact door in front of you will lead to the third floor.”
“Where are the cryonic chambers, Commander?” asked Ryan.
“On the third, the lowest level,” was the reply.
“Mr. Noble, we have no doctors down here. We will have to leave that area until SB-III returns in a few days.”
“Copy that, boss. Commander, there is no door open where you suggested there might be one,” VIN replied.
“Maybe I have to get closer,” Commander Joot replied.
“I don’t think so, Commander; the air in here is still not safe,” VIN replied.
“Come on, Commander Joot; it seems we are not going in there unless dressed in spacesuits,” and he led the commander back to the control tent to suit up.
On the way out, the two men were halted by a radio message from Captain Pete. Now they were wearing suits, they could hear all the conversations going on.
“America One to Ground Control: the space above Earth is clear again. There have been no missiles or cube launches for several hours. Request new orders on blasting China. There are several very large fires down there hundreds of miles across; three cities seem to be a blaze and over one hundred military installations. Overall, we have fired 8,717 blasts from all four ships into that country. I’m a little worried about our laser weapons. They are heating up quicker and quicker, and all four of our plutonium blocks are overheating, over.”
“Shut them all down,” replied Ryan. “Get the new crewmembers aboard the mother ship dressed and housed. Resume firing on any country that sends up anything more than a hot air balloon, and Captain Pete, continue to warn all three countries until you get a confirmation that they have received the message. On your next pass take photos of China ablaze. Also photos of our destroyed airfield telling them that this attack was the reason for our reprisal on that country, plus the news that two hundred Russian troops are heading home. The United States has tried to kill me and my crew. Tell the world that tidbit of information as well, and that Astermine is at war with all three countries. Show the whole world, every country, and send the photos with your messages. It should make all the papers and news feeds worldwide, and tell everybody that all we want is to be left alone. Captain Pete, explain to every country that the Big Bad Three have failed to harm our ships or weapons whatsoever.”
Ryan had decided that the news about the fires in China and the attacks on his crew needed to be broadcast. There was little to no international communications with no satellites in space, so Ryan had decided to broaden the world’s knowledge of the atrocities against him.
Carefully and slowly, both men headed down the ramp. When it came to war, fighting, and hurting other humans, Commander Joot never said a word. It was out of his line of mental understanding, and he ignored the information going through his communications devices.
“VIN, Elder Roo, you still alive down there?” Ryan asked as they reached the open door.
“Roger, just sitting around waiting for you guys,” VIN replied.
“There isn’t much down here to see, but Commander Joot, it doesn’t feel that there is any life down here, even in the sleep rooms,” added Elder Roo.
Slowly and carefully the two men entered the cavern and, negotiating the stairs one by one, they finally reached ground level.
Ryan looked up for the first time to see the same sort of flight cavern they had found on the planets, except ten times bigger. It looked like a half-empty and desolate interior of a superstore. Only in one area where it looked like the spacecraft had been manufactured was there any sort of organization. All else was just piles of dust.
“I would assume that the atmosphere destroyed everything in here far more quickly than out in space.” suggested Ryan, looking around. “I’m sure the oxidization and atmospheric destruction of all equipment down here is many times worse than, say, on Mars, or the blue planet, Igor.”
“One hundred percent correct,” Igor replied through the intercom from the command center.
“I am hoping that Ruler Pong, or whoever was the last in command down here, had the idea to extract the atmosphere from the lower levels,” said Commander Joot.
“Could they do that?” Ryan asked.
“They could have, using the shields, but it would have killed anybody not in the sleeping chambers. Our suits weren’t made for vacuum.”
“I should have thought of using the shields,” replied Ryan. “Maybe that’s why the door didn’t open. Is there a manual door opener?”
“Yes,” replied the commander, “here,” and VIN recognized the same small panel next to the doors they had found once they got the hang of the systems in the other Matt bases where he had used the small mirrors.
“Better stand back,” suggested VIN as Joot opened the door.
As expected, a blue shield began to grow over the commander as it expanded out of the open door. He just stood there, and the growth of the shield stopped once he was half enveloped. His arm with all the air sensors was inside the shield, and he stepped inside to read them.
“You were right, Ryan. Somebody set up a shield, and inside it is much like space: no atmosphere whatsoever. Temperature is 56 degrees. Igor, how is that?” Commander Joot asked.
“Commander,” Igor responded after thinking hard about why the temperature was not freezing or at absolute zero. “Our idea of a vacuum up to now was a bit of space, only outside our Earth atmosphere, with nothing in it. Ever since we have studied your shields, the temperatures have differed to our locations. On Mars, the area inside the shield around America One was a few degrees warmer than when America One was orbiting Titan or Enceladus. As physics states, we don’t know of any examples of a perfect vacuum. Space beyond the Earth’s atmosphere isn’t a bad approximation to a perfect vacuum, but it is filled with solar wind particles, light from the sun, cosmic rays and cosmic microwave background radiation. It’s probably also filled with dark matter, which doesn’t interact with other stuff, except gravitationally, and possibly only through feeble and weak interactions, as well as with neutrinos. But to answer the question, I believe that the temperature inside a vacuum will become the same as the temperature of the area surrounding the vacuum, if there is anything surrounding the vacuum. Read up on Prevost’s exchange energy theory. A thermos flask holding hot soup will cool over time as the heat dissipates through its vacuum walls. The vacuum in a thermos flask is there to slow the dissipation of heat, it can’t halt it. The ground temperature of Earth is about 55 degrees. The chamber door you just opened most probably stopped any alternative temperatures from above ground changing the room’s inner temperature. If the shield could survive in, say, molten lava, then the vacuum inside the shield would correspond with the temperature of the lava around it.”
“Well answered, Igor,” commended Ryan. “I’m sure every scientist and physicist on Earth would agree, or argue your views until doomsday, but we still need to shut this shield down and allow fresh air in here. Commander?”
“I think so,” agreed Joot. “Anybody who is still alive in the sleeping chambers will die when they are opened if they don’t have an atmosphere to breathe, just like VIN and Elder Roo nearly died saving my life on Titan.”
“I understand. Commander, this is your home base: you give the orders down here,” Ryan replied.
“Whatever we find down here will be old,” Elder Roo added.
“Not if the equipment hadn’t had a chance to oxidize like on the flight level,” answered Igor.
“I think the best is to shut down the shields, salvage what we can, release any people who are down there, and close our home down. We Matts would have been long dead if you hadn’t found us,” replied the commander. “Thanks to you Homo sapiens, some of us see a new Earth, but we cannot live here anymore. There is no food and water. Thanks to you, Ryan, we returned, risking everything to gather its secrets. I believe we should close down all the shields and take them back to Mars. Do you know why we invented these shields in the first place?” The three shook their heads.
The crew walked into the power room where Ryan and VIN were excited to see five black boxes sitting inside. Commander Joot turned off all five boxes and slowly the shields began to decrease in size, sucking in air from outside. Ryan suggested that they wait a few hours and return without suits once it was safe to do so. The others agreed, and one by one they headed up both sets of stairs and back to the command tent.
“If you notice, this cavern is exactly ten times larger than the caverns you found on the planets,” said the commander once they had their helmets off and were relaxing. “In other words, each of those bases on the planets are exactly the same design as these caverns, just one tenth of the size. When I left for the last time, we had a population of only 1,000 Matts left living on Earth. Each level could accommodate 500 of our people. Before I was born, and when I was a young boy, many farmers lived outside in the fields around the crater. There is a corridor far too low for Mr. Jones to walk through, which leads to a door from the lowest level and thence outside of the crater, about halfway down. There in the fertile lands was a community living there, our Matt farmers, over 10,000 of them. They grew and grew in numbers and supplied the crater with food. There were many differences of opinion between the cavern Matts and the farming Matts. We designed equipment for farming for them, so they could farm. In return, they fed us. We inside were thinkers, designers and inventors. As the lake and river water dried up over about 100 years, many decided that they wanted to travel south and west, where the areas were still lush and green. Many families stayed to feed us and to bring us water, but the ground became drier and drier, and crops harder to grow, so they slowly left, but not before we had made ourselves self-sufficient inside the crater by limiting our numbers and gathering water when it was available from the river. We manufactured many water tanks for storage and grew crops inside the crater.”
“I can’t believe this whole area was once lush and fertile,” said Ryan.
“I must now go back in time to our history books, and centuries before I was born, and up to when Cavern Inventor Blog showed us his new invention: the shield.”
“These blue shields?” VIN asked.
“Yes,” replied Joot. “It had taken him 220 years of designing to make the first shield. I was born a year afterwards. My father was Ruler Don Mak, who was the ruler when I was born. Before my father had become Ruler, and when he was a child, Cavern Inventor Blog searched all over the land for metals and materials needed to make the shields. He had two hundred of the outside people who he went out searching with. He had his own inventing team of sixty scientists who often searched with him. These people headed out to search for these new rocks and metals. I remember as a boy that he left for years at a time. One year a rock from space flew over the crater and landed several miles away, causing a large explosion. In those years we didn’t have spaceships taking off. A second team under Inventor Fob was designing them, but they needed a shield to protect the craft from the vacuum of space.”
“How did you know about space in the first place?” Ryan asked, now wearing normal clothes. He enjoyed a cup of coffee as he listened to the story.
Commander Joot hadn’t told them much on the journey back from Titan or Mars. It seemed that he had wanted to get a lay of the land at home base first before he gave out all their Matt secrets. What he then said shocked Ryan, Igor and VIN to their cores.
“From our own visitors from space,” Commander Joot replied.
“We Matts learned about our early visitors through our education, and when I was young and on the blue planet,” interrupted Elder Roo. “We were never told where they came from.”
“You mean real aliens?” VIN asked.
“No,” replied Commander Joot. “The aliens arrived in a spaceship and landed among our outside people about 1,000 years, or four generations, before I was born. We were not so modern in the early times. This silver bird arrived from the heavens and had a blue shield around it. Our farmers were inquisitive, and after a few days met with the newcomers, who looked exactly like we did. Many were invited into the spaceship over the first year. Several of our tribe went into the spaceship and never returned, or came out missing legs or arms, the story was told to us. Several were carried out by others without their heads. It seems that the aliens were inspecting our farmers. They either learned our language, or we learned their language, nobody could tell which. They stayed for seven years, and they took pity on us as long as we gave them people to eat. Over time, three of our leaders were taught in the arts of these space Matts.”
“And they looked like your people?” Ryan asked. “And ate them?”
“Just like us, and they told our elders that they came from another area of Earth many thousands of years earlier than us. The stories say that they taught us how to live longer, to eat meat, to collect drinking water from the morning dew, and gave us plans to make our own power systems. They taught us how to design spacecraft, and about the metals and fuels we needed to find to make the shield around a spacecraft. The visitors told us how to travel away from this world, and that they now lived on another world. Once they left, they never returned.”
“Could they be older Matts?” Igor asked. “From an older generation?”
“We believe so, but we had very little in common. They ate animals and often us. They liked our women, and did painful things to them. They liked us, but like you, they liked to hurt and kill each other. They always fought and killed each other with weapons over our women. That is how the story goes. They ate so many of our outside people that they caused most of our farmers to leave and head south. A few months later, and with few farmers left to eat, the aliens left. They couldn’t get at us inside the cavern, no matter how hard they tried. Our doors kept them out. The farmers who left told us that they would leave a trail of paintings in the caves they slept in, if we needed to follow them one day.”
“Maybe the Bushman paintings?” interrupted Ryan. “I believe archeologists found dozens of cave paintings of helmeted people and spaceships in central and southern Africa.”
“The leaders who had been taught everything began to run our tribe. One was to be called Supreme Ruler, two were to be called Inventors. Over their lifetimes we returned to being vegetarians. Life returned to normal and the farmers grew in numbers again. It was interesting that all their children from the women we were forced to give them left with them.
“For five generations of Rulers and Inventors we worked on what they had learned, but it with was the arrival of the rock from space that the fourth generation Inventor made the first shield a few years later. He gathered up the broken rock with many others, but unfortunately died a year after his invention, of a horrible disease that ate his body. We thought that the rock was a gift from the aliens, as it ate his and many other of our tribe’s bodies. Now you have taught us that this disease was radiation sickness.”
“Go on,” pleaded Ryan.
“Inventor Blog had two children, both boys who were too young to go out and collect the rocks, and they took over his work when he became sick. Inventor Blog’s children made dozens more shields, and one of the shields allowed Inventor Fob’s spacecraft to finally lift off the surface. It didn’t have enough power until the blue shield sealed it from the atmosphere and gave it lift. After crashing many times and killing many astronauts, they kept improving the spacecraft. Today my craft looks similar to the spacecraft those meat-eating Matts arrived in centuries earlier, although slightly smaller. Finally, after a century, Commander Dun flew into space for the first time, and returned successfully.”
“Did the aliens drink the fuel?” Igor asked, piecing pieces of a large puzzle together.
“Yes, just like we have seen Mr. Jones drink our fuel. They drank their fuel and had parties, going wild and killing and hurting us and themselves. We learned how to make the fuel and the flight controls and computers from their power systems they had taught us. Without a shield around the spaceship, it wasn’t powerful enough to fly. The weak craft just made large dust clouds. Then the last of the farmers left, as I explained earlier. By this time, the rains sometimes brought floods, and other times the ground became so dry that our crops couldn’t grow. The aliens had taught us how to make gases and bottle them. That led Inventor Blog’s children to set up one of the new shields on the ground, and many of us cavern Matts died trying to fill it with air.
“It took twenty years after the first flight, but one day there was success. The Inventors both walked into the shield and lived. From that day on we formed lines of shields, and after 100 years, when I was made Commander, there were 20 shields on the ground giving us beautiful crops. The water we lifted in with our new spacecraft from a river to our west wasn’t lost as fast, and we needed far less. Our closest water was over a hundred miles away.
“Unfortunately, I didn’t see much of the outside. I was in the other group learning to fly to collect water, and to fly into space. In my first 100 years, I saw seventy space flights with shields take off, and all seventy returned. My father, the Ruler, one of the first astronauts, wanted to thank the aliens for the rock, so he tried to send up gifts for them. The first ship with a Commander Zing and supplies to make a base in space never returned. After waiting for many years, my father flew on our second attempt. My father also wanted the aliens to return to us on Earth, so he took up several women and children for the aliens with building materials and fuel for Commander Zing.
“Where was he heading to?” Ryan asked.
“Nobody knew,” Joot replied. “My father, I assume, just believed that he would fly straight into the aliens. We didn’t know how big space was. It was pure luck that he found the small planet you call DX2017, which we now know was on its way to Mars. Orbiting the small planet, he saw a blue shield and thought it the aliens. It wasn’t. It was Commander Zing out of fuel. The commander and his copilot had built a small underground base on the blue planet, and with his shield, a little water and ground from Earth they had managed to survive. My father and his Matts joined and help grow the base with his supplies, and both ships returned when they neared Earth 14 years later.
“How did they dig underground?” VIN asked.
“Due to the space vacuum the aliens had warned about, the Inventers had thought out a plan to live underground. They had invented digging machines. Commander Zing, with two of the diggers, had taken a year to build a small hole inside the planet. Commander Zing had released atmospheric air under pressure into his shield, used a machine to produce heat, and had lived in the shield with his copilot for the first year while the diggers worked. After surviving on the small planet for two entire orbits, on the second orbit he taught my father when it would pass Earth and how to meet it. The third expedition fourteen years later was all five craft going up three times to deposit earth, water, and internal building materials to increase the size of the base.
“Then they stopped on Mars and decided to build the next base there, and then on Titan on the next round. As I said, seventy launches took up our supplies and crew. On the last flight, I left to be commander of the transport planet, DX2017. That was the last time I saw my father. My father died as the Titan base was completed. He was 241 years old. I did not become Ruler, as I was commander on Mars at the time, and a new Ruler was chosen in my absence. The bases were to all be a tenth the size of one level of our base, with enough room for 50 people. All the machines were copied from below to be a tenth of the size to run the base. The same sleep chambers the aliens had used to return to Earth were copied and used to transport our crew over the long distances.
“Every time the little blue planet came close to Earth, all five of our spaceships headed up carrying ten people in each, plus two more launches with supplies to feed them. Once the blue planet’s base was complete, we began building on Mars, then Titan, then the last one, Mercury, as you call the hot planet. Somebody thought that the aliens might be on Mercury. The ship never made it to Mercury. I believe that Igor was right about the temperatures inside the shields. If the temperature on the last flight was as hot as on Mercury, then our people and ship would not have survived. Once the planet bases were in place, my new job as commander was to supply them, and now I am back here on Earth. Just like Commander Zing, I have finally returned, but unfortunately, 7,000 years or more too late. I feel very tingly thinking about my story. All our space flights, for nothing more than to find those aliens. We never did.”
“Where do you think they could be?” Ryan asked, checking on his watch.
“Anywhere out there. They told our forefathers that they had several bases. I’m sure there must be one on Mars,” Commander Joot replied.
That worried Ryan. “Why didn’t you stay on Earth? Why did your tribe decide to head into space? All you had to do was to move to a new location when the ground dried up.”
“We listened to the men who traveled with Inventor Blog, and judgments were made on his and their reports,” replied Joot. “All he and his men ever said was that everything out there was like the aliens. Everything out there was inimical, from flying insects that ate your blood to large cats who dragged his men off one by one. Even water animals rushed out of the rivers and dragged any unsuspecting man away. Every living animal wanted to eat us, and we didn’t eat them. He lost one man nearly every week. They learned how to protect themselves, but there was always something new that wanted to eat them. Around our area, I believe that there were so many farmers, that the eaters, especially the big animals, stayed away. Some died, but not many. As you see, we are not a big and strong powerful race like you, VIN and Jonesy. Even your females and many of your children are bigger than us Matt males. You could have protected us, but once my forefathers heard that there weren’t any insects, or cats, or large flat water animals out in space, that was when the decision was made to head out there instead of relocating down here. Also, for hundreds of years we never heard back from the farmers who had left us, so we believed that they were all eaten as well.”
The Homo sapiens agreed with the logic.
Two hours had gone by since they had left the open second floor to breathe, and after a meal it was time to get back into the semi-charged spacesuits again.
The four men, completely suited up, entered the cavern to find a more favorable quality of air on both levels. The suction of air into the second level had certainly helped.
The first thing Ryan did was to carry the five black boxes from the middle level up to the surface so that his technicians could place them in Commander Joot’s craft. Then they opened all the doors on the second level and went through the rooms one by one.
Memories flooded back to the commander and Elder Roo. Elder Roo remembered joining an invention club with other boys in one room, and being schooled in another. Commander Joot had his apartment on this level, and it was a poignant moment for him to enter his old single quarters. Nothing looked as if he had left it. He had never officially married. Most of the families lived on the safest third level, and the unmarried Matts, of which to Ryan seemed more than expected, the middle level.
The commander told him that several of the higher ranking Matts, once flying, didn’t have time for families. They often were away from Earth for fourteen-year periods and sometimes had children with single female crewmembers to add new generations and blood lines to the crew numbers in space.
It seemed to VIN that their ideas of sex were as varied as their ideas on most other things: relaxed. Nobody really took an interest in how other Matts conducted their lives, and there seemed few or no rules in place.
The middle level of the cavern was large, nearly the size of a football field. There were two hundred apartments, mostly smaller than on America One, with single beds, and in each one was nothing more than well-preserved metal beds, desk frames and wooden chairs. Here and there were cases of what looked like food supplies. In one room was a perfectly preserved apple, a green one, and when Elder Roo went to carefully pick it up, it turned into dust as he touched it.
“It looks like these rooms were carefully cleaned and most of the softer materials, such as clothes and blankets, placed elsewhere,” suggested Ryan.
“We Matts never had many material items,” replied Joot. “Apart from clothing, a few pieces of jewelry to show our rank, and our gold chests of valuables, we didn’t believe in having more unnecessary items. These we haven’t found yet, so the search on the next level will show us the chests. I must admit, the rooms were very empty, so somebody had prepared for something.”
“SB-III and then SB-II will be down tomorrow,” said Ryan an hour later, and once the whole area had been checked, they found nothing of interest. “I suggest we wait until then. Dr. Nancy and Dr. Walls, return in case we need medical support. Let’s call it a day. Are we are running short of suit time?”
Within an hour they were out of the suits. The suits needed to be recharged, and so did VIN’s legs. On a hot desert afternoon, brown bottles of Australian beer were welcomed by the team, except the two Matts of course, who grabbed the darker, cold plastic bottles with red labels.
Joot had realized that it certainly would take a lot of mental and medical help to get these Homo sapiens off their alcoholic beverages. They always seemed to partake of some form of alcohol or another. Also the feasting of burnt and fired cooked meat, what they called a barbeque by these Tall People here on Earth, was now a daily occurrence. Maybe he had again found the fuel-drinking, meat-eating aliens who had visited them many years ago? Maybe these aliens had just grown into different colors and become taller?
The desert nights were perfect. There were no insects, and the dark hours until midnight felt warm and comfortable, which really brought the memories back to the Matts. As Joot said, he had slept most of his 10,000 years. So had Elder Roo, and it was only the 60 or so years traveling on several occasions out in space that had dulled his memory. To Roo walking around the crater and cavern, being here felt like only a year or two ago.
“What fuel changes do you think the shield will cause?” Ryan asked in Matt over the radio with his first cup of coffee the next morning. Everybody was monitoring what was going on in the crater. Above, Jonesy and Maggie were already in a low orbit; Boris and Vitaliy were in charge of refueling. Fritz Warner, the entire astronaut crew, and Captain Pete had worked most of the last day in America One on Commander Joot’s recommendations for shield reentry.
“We figured thirty percent of the usual fuel usage for a round trip, but it all depends how accurately the computers get the shuttle to the crater,” said Vitaliy.
Somehow the Matt craft seemed to know where to go, but the shuttle’s computers weren’t telepathic, so this was a more complicated scenario.
Jonesy had the computers and the records of every reentry into the atmosphere on command. The computers would be more in control than the astronauts, but the problem was in descending, something the craft didn’t want to do at high altitude, as Maggie had found out. The craft just wanted to head upward above 30,000 feet.
“We have to solve the ‘I can’t get down’ problem,” said Jonesy, which made everybody smile. “If we are just floating up there, I could turn the shuttle upside down and use the thrusters in the opposite direction. Gee, the shuttle is protected by the shield, and it’s just like being in a space vacuum. As long as everything is tied down, I could do somersaults in SB-III, and it wouldn’t hurt the shuttle.”
“Ryan. What fuel reserves do you have down there?” Captain Pete asked.
“We have the two hydrogen Dewars we saved from the attack fifteen miles away. We have just enough fuel for one normal launch. If we launch with the shields, we could double that. We must get both shuttles back into space. If not, then we must ask the Aussies for liquid hydrogen. I can’t risk both doctors in the first flight, but we need them down here. There is one flight of alcohol left down here, so Captain Pete, we are in a bit of a fuel bind.”
“We have it all figured out, boss,” said Jonesy. “Maggie and I will be down drinking beer before you know it.” Ryan didn’t bother to look at Commander Joot and his usual rolling eyeballs.
“I gave you the coordinates for the fuel location, Mr. Jones,” added Ryan. “You head straight there. The techies will give you fifty percent of all the fuel we have down here. Any excess once you are up there can be used for your next flight. From then on, we will depend on refueling from America One. Captain Pete, your fuel stocks please?”
“At thirty percent fuel load we have enough up here to refuel five shuttles and one Matt craft,” was the reply.
The large crew were happy to finally get off the shuttle, and Jonesy and Maggie were ordered to rest while SB-III was unloaded and readied for the return trip. Jonesy and Maggie were tired. It had been quite a few days shooting up China. Then once Ryan had halted the attack, it had taken the shuttle three orbits and several hours to climb up to America One 300 miles above Earth.
They had just four hours of sleep before they reentered the shuttle with Dr. Nancy for the return flight.
The first six hours of orbits decreased in altitude, which allowed Jonesy another three hours of sleep, and then Maggie the same before Ryan’s voice woke her. With this quick time, Jonesy reckoned that one day they could beat the old Southwest Airline’s rapid turnarounds.
For the last hour before reentry, SB-III’s computer was primed with speed and height adjustments. Commander Joot in the crater answered any questions relating to one of his reentries. He couldn’t see why everybody was so concerned.
Instead of the shuttle pulling up and flying with her heat tiles into the flame of atmospheric reentry, Jonesy had decided to head in at the exact speed Commander Joot entered, slightly faster than theirs, and this time Jonesy would point the shuttle’s nose down like an arrow. It shouldn’t matter inside the shield.
If the shield malfunctioned in any way, or broke up, he and his wife, and Dr. Nancy would be burnt toast within milliseconds.
“Speed accurate, height at minimum. Desert Control, we are heading in,” said Jonesy with full concentration, monitoring the computer readouts. He was one with his bird, and he and the shuttle knew it. What really excited Jonesy was that inside the shield he could take command of the shuttle at any time. There weren’t any of the deadly atmospheric high speed drags and pressures connected with their usual atmospheric reentry. He had also reentered with Commander Joot in the Matt craft once, and had seen how maneuverable the craft was inside the shield in atmospheric conditions.
If something went wrong, nobody inside SB-III would feel a thing. Death would be instantaneous, and everything around them would just disintegrate.
“We might lose communications soon. The shield is vibrating pretty badly, but holding together. Speed 24,900 knots,” said the chief astronaut calmly.
For Jonesy and Maggie, this reentry was totally different. Desert Control didn’t get lost on the radio. They communicated all the way down. At 150,000 feet, once past the flame altitudes, the craft began to try to rise. Smiling, Jonesy kept the nose down and simply used the rear thrusters. That worked for a couple of minutes, until even with the nose pointing toward Earth the craft slowed in its downward motion, even though its forward speed across the planet’s surface was still far higher than usual at this altitude. So he did the next best thing: he turned them upside down, and like a roller coaster, headed toward the growing planet, using the rear thrusters to descend like a rocket over the Atlantic.
The next problem was a serious speed reduction, so he began to treat the shuttle as if it were still in space. He turned the craft around using the small thrusters and began slowing them, reversing thrust in the direction they were going.
The computers followed and recorded his every move, and as they rapidly got closer to the desert base, a readout of what he did appeared on all their computer screens.
“I can read you on radar, but am I right: you are at 90,000 feet, still over 16,000 knots and going in reverse? I can see your computer readouts, but other than that, you don’t exist up there SB-III,” said Igor.
“Nor from up here,” added Captain Pete.
“This is the most fun flying I have ever done,” replied Jonesy. “Wow! And you won’t believe it, but we are reversing over Earth at Mach 16 with 30 percent rear thrust. The shield is vibrating pretty badly, but we are slowing and decreasing altitude faster than I have ever flown before.”
“Passing through 69,000 feet at 11,000 knots” added Maggie. “Mach 15, we are flying lower and ten times faster than an F-16. Increasing thrust to 40 percent…..now 45 percent….Jonesy, we are still going to overfly.”
“Maggie, increase thrust to 70 percent. I am increasing angle of attack to 75 percent,” said Jonesy.
They were nearly above the crater when they sped past still at 27,000 feet and at Mach 5. Ryan and the others ran outside, and with binoculars, watched one of their shuttles flying backward and traveling over them in the blue shield like an asteroid about to hit Earth. The only difference was that there was no smoke or flames. There wasn’t even a sonic boom.
“Where are you going, Mr. Jones?” asked Ryan, unbelieving at what he was seeing.
“India by the look of it, but we are slowing rapidly,” was Maggie’s sarcastic reply.
“India my foot, wife. At this speed reduction, Ryan can get the beers cold. We will be home in thirty minutes. Maggie, up the thrust to ninety percent. Let’s get this bucking bronco tied down and corral the beast.”
“Heading east over the Red Sea, Jonesy, and dropping like a stone. Keep her facing west. Prepare for a controlled hover; I’m increasing thrust to 99 percent, then will rapidly decrease down to 55.”
“Yee-hah!” shouted Jonesy, enjoying himself immensely.
Slowly, 600 miles east of the crater, at 20,000 feet, the Jones family finally obtained a perfect hover, with the craft completely stationary above ground.
“Allen, you up there?” Jonesy said into his mike excitedly.
“Negative,” replied Captain Pete. “SB-II is currently over central Asia, with four minutes to his start of reentry.”
“Dial into his computers, Pete, and I’ll send up to you my files on this approach. We overflew by 600 miles. He can decrease that by reversing the craft earlier. With the shield, he can reenter in reverse mode earlier than I did and nothing will happen. We flew through dense atmospheric conditions at over Mach 15. I’m sure another Mach or ten won’t matter. Maggie, give me 65 percent forward thrust, ten degrees above horizontal glideslope, and let’s go and get a cold one. Captain Pete, our files are on the way. Just tell Allen not to reverse thrust too quickly. The trick in all this is learning to fly all over again, and aiming the mathematics and shuttle toward the crater, over.”
“We get your drift, Jonesy. Files received, out,” replied Captain Pete, who began to talk the reentry through with the next shuttle.
Twenty minutes later, SB-III glided over the lip of the crater and came in for a perfect landing. Jonesy told everybody listening that he had used less than 15 percent fuel capacity, and with a straight launch should use no more than the same amount. It had been as difficult to slow the craft down as it would have been to accelerate it.
Less than an hour later, Allen and Jamie Saunders came in from the west. They had been short by 90 miles at 19,000 feet, but closer to the “pin” than SB-III.
SB-II had nearly lost control and dropped to ground once he reached a motionless hover, and Allen Saunders had used five percent less fuel than Jonesy and Maggie. Nobody had refueled yet.
By the time the Saunders family walked into the command tent, Jonesy was already on his second beer and trying to get Commander Joot to try one.
The astronauts even enjoyed a beer during the briefing. It was all pilot talk, looking at the computer readouts. Both pilot crews reckoned that they would be spot on next time, and Ryan breathed a sigh of relief. His shuttles didn’t need a runway anymore.
Jonesy was already working on numbers for a shield launch into space and asked Joot to get him another beer, which the small man refused. Ryan told them all that the next flight was not into space, but into the Gibson Desert in Western Australia.
Fish, big fish, small fish and big game fish began to swim in the eyes and mind of General John Jones, United States Air Force, Retired.
Chapter 11
The Third Level
As soon as the sun was up the next morning, spacesuits were donned and the four men who had surveyed the first two levels of the crater the day before, plus Jonesy and Allen Saunders, headed down the slope to the cavern. Ryan and Commander Joot had decided to leave the upper and second level doors open the previous night so that the air inside would be freshened. Now it was only the third level that needed an atmosphere.
Dr. Nancy and Dr. Walls were being helped into suits by Max Burgos, who had returned with Dr. Walls and Allen Saunders. It was only the third time the new doctor had worn a suit. All the newbies had been given several hours of the most basic spacesuit training once they had reached America One.
“Oxygen levels safe,” said VIN a few minutes after he had reached the flight deck on the upper level. He then headed down to the second layer and said the same. Only the helium statistics was out of alignment to the usual Earth’s atmospheric mix. It always seemed higher in the Matt bases.
VIN and Commander Joot checked out the two levels to make sure nothing was amiss or out of place before allowing the others in. Nothing had been moved. Now it was time to open the third level.
Commander Joot seemed to struggle to mentally open the door. He had to concentrate more than twice as hard as before. His eyes were tightly closed, and the deep frown lines appearing on his face could be seen through his visor before the door grudgingly moved a dozen inches, and then stopped.
“The door seems to have a security system or something,” Joot said to the others. “I believe that only a person of my rank or the current Supreme Ruler himself is allowed to open this door, and it doesn’t seem to want to open. Elder Roo’s concentration didn’t help me at all.”
“Well, I can see the door is double the width of all the other doors I have tried to open on your Matt bases,” replied VIN. Commander Joot looked at the door itself instead of closing his eyes and concentrating. VIN was right, this door had opened a foot, and he could see that this door was all of the foot wide.
“I don’t remember this door being made so secure and heavy. That is my difficulty,” Joot responded. “It was a normal door when I left the last time. I’m sure the changes were made by the last Ruler after my departure.”
“How long do you think they lived here after you left?” Jonesy asked.
The commander thought for a while. “I don’t believe that they would have been here longer than one more generation; 200 to 250 years,” he replied. “I suppose that is a lot of time to change things. It hadn’t rained for 20 years when I left. Let me open it some more,” and this time he concentrated hard enough to give VIN and Dr. Nancy a headache, but it worked. The door opened, and a thin telltale bubble of the shield began to grow out of the open door.
Everybody peered inside once they had manhandled it open. The enormous cavern was packed with hundreds of shelves of items. It was still very blue inside, and they couldn’t see the condition of the supplies. Commander Joot headed in and turned off the five black boxes in the power room.
Slowly the blue shields grew smaller and within a few minutes were gone. The lights in the walls were not so bright this time, as the rows of shelves darkened the cavern more than on the upper levels.
“I believe we now have enough shields for Suzi to start an entire farm on Mars,” VIN suggested as everybody stood still and looked at what they could see, not much except darkened shadows.
“We have two hours of suit time left, the doctors forty minutes more than us. The last cryogenic chambers took twelve hours to open, so I think we check them out first, and if they are operational begin the twelve hour countdown,” said Ryan.
“Since there was only a vacuum in here and the air above was clean, I believe the atmosphere should be stable with ten to fifteen minutes as it is sucked into the cavern from the upper level,” added Igor.
“Mr. Jones, Mr. Saunders, Commander,” continued Ryan. “Igor will hand you the black boxes. Please take them up two at a time and place them next to the others in the Matt craft. We are not leaving without them.” The three men headed up the stairs and returned within twenty minutes. Commander Joot had just opened the door to the medical area.
To VIN it seemed as if he were back in one of the other bases in space. The medical room looked exactly the same, but three times the size. “I count 72 cabinets, 24 in three walls. Each wall has three lines of eight. Not many for an end of a tribe,” VIN suggested.
“We are going to be rather full on Mars if they are all occupied,” added Ryan.
“I don’t think so,” replied VIN. “It seems that on the right-hand wall there are only six lights on the cabinet handles, and they are not blue, but red. That is not good news.”
“Same here, I only see two red handles,” said Igor. He was checking out the small cabinet handles on the opposite wall to VIN, and the two doctors were checking the far wall to the door, the third wall.
“I see eleven blue handles, and the rest have no color whatsoever,” said Nancy.
“Let’s start proceedings,” suggested Ryan. “Commander, if you please. I suggest we start with Dr. Nancy’s wall first. It seems there is no life in the other two.”
“I will begin the heating of all three walls,” replied Joot. “It doesn’t really matter; we might as well get the end results of the population of our base accounted for in one go. Sometimes the red color depicts a lesser coldness. Maybe frozen stores, papers, or seeds like you found on the planets.” With that he pushed the necessary buttons, and the usual foot-tingling vibrations, although much stronger than before, were felt under feet as the warming process was begun.
There was nothing else to do, apart for bringing down the medical supplies. Both shuttles had arrived with every saline drip and all the other supplies needed by the two doctors that was aboard the mother ship. Since there were so few blue lights, these could be carried down into the cavern on the next visit in eleven hours’ time.
“It will take ten hours to charge our suits. Therefore I believe we should inspect what we can in the next ten to twenty minutes, then head up to charge our suits for the next visit,” said Igor.
Everybody nodded and began looking at the supplies on hundreds of shelves. To Commander Joot, this was all that remained of his home, his people on Earth, and it didn’t look too good. The remains of his whole tribe—eleven blue handles—were all that was left, and that made him reach into his distant past.
Commander Joot’s mind went back to his younger days, and then he remembered—all these sleep chambers were far larger. He explained this to the others. Each cabinet could be holding up to a group, or family, of six people. Three adults, or six children. There could be far more people instead of eleven.
Once the system was activated, there was nothing more to do in the medical room, apart for the doctors to look at the tools they had at their disposal. The others headed back to the first long row of shelves.
The shelves as usual had dozens of piles of blankets, pillows, clothing, anfood supplies, but everything unfortunately turned to dust once touched.
One area had a dozen of the same gold cases, or Identity chests as Elder Roo had described them, found in the other bases. These were identical, but slightly larger.
On board America One, the chemistry lab had checked the first Matt Identity chests years earlier and had found them to be pure gold. These were larger than the smaller ones found in space. At eighteen inches long and high and a foot wide, with a flat lid, VIN tried to pick one up with its handle on each end. He struggled and had to get Jonesy to help him. Now having to fight normal Earth gravity, these boxes, compared to the ones found in space, were very heavy.
“There must be half a ton of gold in these twelve boxes. Very heavy,” remarked Ryan.
“Commander chests. We used this metal you call gold because it was pretty, and soft and easy to mold,” Joot added.
“There are some even larger gold boxes over there, another dozen stacked on top of each other,” said Allen into his suit’s intercom. Everyone headed further down the row of shelves.
“Inventor chests,” said Commander Joot. These had curved lids, and were three feet long, only a foot wide and two feet high. “Look over here, six Ruler chests, the biggest chests of all. We had seven Supreme Rulers, so one chest is missing,” and everybody looked further down the row to the next area. Here the six chests weren’t stacked on top of each other, and there was a space above them. These chests were about the size of a treasure chest and were about two feet cubed with their curved lids closed.
“Check all these out!” VIN exclaimed, looking through the open hole above the big chests. He was looking through the gap at the second row, about ten feet behind the first row. Everybody looked, apart from Commander Joot, who said that he knew what was there and wanted to find his father’s chest among the Ruler chests.
All their mouths dropped. This whole row, a football field long, and with eight shelves, each a foot high, were the smaller gold chests found on the planets. VIN tried to count, but there were too many, so he scanned the numbers in one row and worked out that there must be well over a thousand gold boxes. Shocked, he walked around the end of the line of rows and found the same gold chests, thousands of them on the third, fourth and fifth rows—thousands upon thousands of gold chests, all the size of a shoe box.
“I think we have just ruined the price of gold on this planet,” was all Ryan could say.
The entire crew followed VIN and looked at what he had found. They hadn’t seen the rear rows behind the first one, and hadn’t noticed the mass of yellow behind the piles of dust. Only Joot, who had all six Ruler chests open, wasn’t shocked.
“These are all the chests of the personal belongings of all our tribal ancestors who ever lived in this crater,” he said over the intercom. “I believe about 1,500 years, six generations of Matts. Everybody who lived in the crater before space flight, and all my ancestors. I knew they would be down here, but Ryan, the people’s chests should still be in their rooms for when they awoke. We can tell the number of people sleeping by the chests in the rooms. VIN, Jonesy, can you please help me with my father’s case? Then all the ‘Ruler’ and ‘Inventor’ chests should hold all the plans and designs ever made by each inventor, and we should load them inside my craft immediately.”
Everybody just looked at Commander Joot speechless. This was a far bigger find than Indiana Jones had ever uncovered. It took the crew several moments to just collect themselves.
“Commander, what do we do with all these boxes? You said that their owners are long deceased,” asked Ryan.
“I assume take them with us,” Commander Joot replied.
“We can’t do that,” replied Ryan. “All these chests must be thousands of tons of gold. We could never lift all this weight up into space.”
“Then to me, and the living Matts, only their own chests and the more senior chests are of any importance. The others we could just leave here,” replied the commander.
“Doctors, could you search for the gold boxes in the rooms on that side,” ordered Ryan. “Igor, you and I will search the other side. Mr. Noble, Mr. Jones, and Mr. Saunders, can you try and carry Commander Joot’s gold box up to the surface, then between you, see if you can carry one or two of the Inventors cases up. As soon as the four of us have checked the rooms, we are all out of here to recharge our suits. This stuff isn’t going anywhere.”
The boxes were heavy. The Ruler case belonging to the commander’s father took all four men to heft it up the three flights of stairs to the surface.
Ranting, and their suits working hard to keep them cool, they left it in the hot sun and returned to the lower level. Walking back down was certainly easier than carrying that box the other way. The others were waiting for them.
“Only thirty chests in eight rooms. The other rooms are all empty and look like the level above. All clean and like hotel rooms, metal beds and cupboards ready for occupancy. The numbers don’t tally. Something is not right. We checked them all,” said Ryan. “Two of us can lift the smaller Inventor cases, I’m sure. Can we get four to the surface?”
All eight astronauts were now acclimatized to the strong gravitational pull, and still with much force it took them ten minutes to get four of the cases to the surface. It was certainly hard work. VIN reckoned that the largest chest must have weighed well over 200 pounds, and the smaller ones about 150. One was too heavy even for his strong metal legs to cart it up by himself. Part of his body was still human.
Once they had the boxes in the sun, Ryan asked Joot to seal the cavern. The temperature outside their suits was over a hundred degrees, and the air would have been sucked into the lower level within seconds, or minutes. Now they had to get the chests out of the hole.
That part was easy. VIN had limited experience to drive one of the Caterpillars, and once he was out of his suit he asked Jonesy to direct him. Slowly, he maneuvered the beast down the same slope Bob and Jonesy’s father had used hundreds of times.
“Better you than me, partner,” shouted Jonesy from in front of the earthmover. It was the usual yellow color, and VIN noticed, had little to no diesel in the tank. “I can fly and drive most things, but the Air Force didn’t teach me to fly one of these ugly machines,” continued Jonesy. Maggie and Jamie Saunders laughed, standing on the ladders on each side of the cab and enjoying a free ride.
“Well, they taught your dad,” VIN shouted back. “Even the Marines gave me basic training on this 930G: two hours.”
“Well, we were busy flying bigger things,” retorted Jonesy.
“Funny,” laughed VIN, concentrating on reaching the bottom without careening over the side. “Funny, partner, Colonel Bob Mathews can drive one. It seems you fancy generals seem only fit to fly the fancy machines; you know, the ones with wings. Once again it shows how you high-ranking snobs leave all the hard work to the rank and file.”
“General Saunders and I might decide to begin court-martial proceedings against you, Lieutenant, for disrespect to superior officers,” replied Jonesy, winking at Allen walking next to him.
“Could be a little difficult, darling; you are retired,” countered Maggie.
“Generals, kiss my butt,” laughed Jamie. “You guys haven’t been any rank for over a decade now. It would be fun to watch VIN beat the crap out of both of you and I’m sure Maggie and I would be happy to lay bets and to edge our former Marine hero on, you two old two die-hards!”
Through much jostling and dirty jokes Commander Joot would not have understood, the group of former military personnel managed to get down to the lower surface. Here they grunted and groaned like very unfit soldiers, lifted the five hot gold cases into the front loader, and again ranted and raved at each other all the way back to the cooler shade.
The technicians found the last diesel drum, about half full with 20 or so gallons. Not enough for more than a couple of runs. That made Ryan check the supply depot list and saw they had eight 44-gallon drums of diesel in the stocks down on the open desert. Bob Mathews was still in Tel Aviv awaiting orders, and Ryan sent him a message to catch a ride back to the supply depot with the giant helicopter, which was to bring in another earthmover to clean up a new dirt runway area for the Dead Chicken. The helicopter was scheduled to arrive the next morning.
The new operation would take a couple of days to ready a new runway. The helicopter would need to bring in a roller to harden the ground, and he needed Bob and Jonesy to lift supplies up into the crater.
Fortunately the massive Russian lift helicopter was even too complicated for Bob to fly, so everything on loan in the crater would have to be flown out by this one helicopter once the hole was filled in, and just before the entire operation closed down. Ryan certainly didn’t want anybody outside his crew to know what, where, and how deep they had dug.
Ryan already had been informed by Commander Joot that only a Matt could mentally open any of the cavern doors. There was no other key. Sure, someone could dig down and burn through a foot or so of pure titanium, but Ryan just hoped that like underneath the Nevada base, here with the depth of the sand nobody would bother looking underground.
Nobody outside the America One crew knew why Ryan’s crew had the earthmovers in the crater, or why he was in the crater at all, except maybe for defense and to dig in, readying for the expected attack. The America One crew knew that the Israelis, then the Americans, Chinese, Russians and even the Libyans could come sniffing as soon as they left orbit.
He and Igor figured out that one shield with an explosive destruction device would remain at the only door opening to the first level. The vacuum inside the shield, and a large exploding device, would certainly deter anybody from going further. Also, with no current manned space programs, spacesuits were getting pretty rare on Earth.
There was no other way any of the team could think to stop the people on Earth acquiring any of the remains from inside the cavern.
Chapter 12
The Last of the Matts
Eleven hours later the two doctors, VIN and the two Matts headed back down to the third level after the Caterpillar, driven by the astronauts, carried all the medical equipment down the slope. There were thirty minutes to go when they reached the third level, which now had good breathable air. All wearing suits again, they set up the equipment as they had done on the previous occasions and waited for the cabinets to pop open.
Only the eleven which had blue handles popped open several minutes later, and the crew were surprised to find only small children in all eleven cabinets.
“These must be your tribe’s next generation. We call ours the NextGen,” said Ryan to the Matts as the thirty awakening children were lifted out one by one and rolled shivering into blankets. The temperature in the cavern was 75 degrees, heated by the warm desert air, and it wasn’t long before the children warmed up with the IVs of food and liquids pumped into them. Once the children were comfortable, the crew began helping each other off with their spacesuits. The suits had certainly scared the frightened children, even though the two Matts had telepathically consoled them, and finally seeing Elder Roo’s and Commander Joot’s faces eased their concerns.
The children were all less than three feet tall, and all wearing the usual blue suits, and the two Matts did a roll call. “Twenty boys between eight and eighteen years old. Ten girls, ages six to fourteen years old,” reported Elder Roo, once they had completed their tallying of the children.
“Where are their parents?” Ryan asked in Matt, once he had his helmet off to Commander Joot verbally, and again scared the kids. They looked at the tall white-faced doctors, and the man speaking their language, and their faces paled.
“It seems the rest of the tribe, about 150 adults and 250 children, did not have any large blue suits. Any other suits had been taken up with the last spacecraft, and Inventor Gong, the last Inventor, had left the tribe with the Ruler. I don’t see how that would have mattered, but maybe they didn’t know that the blue suit didn’t matter in the sleep chambers. These Matts have never been to space. The Ruler and the last Inventor were long gone; a Commander Fos was in charge and he gave the orders for the children best fitting into the remaining suits to be placed into the sleep chambers. The eldest boy told me that before they went to sleep, all the history records were placed into the sleep chambers, as well as all the tribal records, and that Commander Fos would make a log of their final days for the Ruler to collect when he returned. The commander told the boy that the chambers with the written history would be sealed inside the left-hand wall a few days before the end of their time, or if the tribe decided to head south.”
“That must be the two red handles I found,” added Igor.
With the two doctors checking the children, each with a Matt by their side, Igor, Ryan, Jonesy and Allen Saunders, who had driven the earthmover down and carried in the vital medical equipment, pulled the red-handled units open. Inside they found a dozen bound papyrus leaves filled with the Matt writing in each cabinet. There were packets of seeds, plants, and papyrus bound food, and open and still-cold jars of water for the awakening children in the other red-handled cabinets.
Ryan knew that what he really wanted was hopefully in the Inventor’s chests. Ryan wanted the technology to make the shields, and Cold Fusion, and maybe a science or two that was different from Earth’s. He also realized that Commander Joot had to get all these new Matts and the most important chests up in America One before any more trouble peeked its lousy head from over the horizon. It was time for the little Matts to leave.
Because there were not enough spacesuits for the departing passengers, SB-III’s crew compartment would shuttle the Matts up. The docking hatch on the shuttle could get the children into America One without suits. Commander Joot’s craft couldn’t, as it didn’t have a docking port.
“Mr. Saunders, Mr. Jones, please could you head up and find out if SB-III is ready for launch. Mr. Jones, I still need you and Commander Joot to fly the Matt craft out of here, and I don’t think SB-III needs to return here to the desert again. Mr. Saunders, you will fly SB-III with your wife, and take these children, as well as all the larger gold chests, up to the mother ship. I still need to check out the power source down here with the commander. Elder Roo, you and the two doctors will go up with the shuttle. It’s time to finish up in here and head for Australia.
Maggie Jones was qualified to fly Chinooks, her husband not, and she headed out the next morning alone to meet Bob Mathews and the arriving lift helicopter once Bob called in their arrival. The flight was short, the destination easy to locate and a Chinook easily flyable by one competent pilot.
A second smaller helicopter from Israel was also on its way. It had a desert-tracked forklift underneath it, as Ryan had ordered, and the stores needed were to be forklifted into the Chinook, while 15 miles away and in the crater, SB-III’s aft cargo hold was to be filled with gold.
The shuttle with its blue shield would be launched under the cover of darkness later that night, and Allen and Jamie would be the first astronauts to take off into orbit inside the blue shield, much to Jonesy’s disappointment.
The shuttle had been ready the evening earlier, but the doctors suggested that the children be fed and monitored for at least 24 hours before flight. It would give them time to get all 30 of the larger gold chests and the 30 smaller chests belonging to the children to be loaded into the aft cargo hold, and the one-day extension turned out to be perfect.
Over a hot day’s work, the Caterpillar in the crater managed two trips in and out of the hole and carried as many of the gold boxes as could be placed in its front bucket, and everywhere else a chest could be stashed on the yellow monsters, before it ran out of diesel a few yards from reaching the lower level for the third time. The second Caterpillar Bob Mathews had driven to dig the hole didn’t have enough for one trip, but they tried it anyway and got down, loaded and back up to the surface before its engine coughed and died.
That helped haul up 15 chests, and for the rest of the day, the sweating crewmembers, Jonesy, Ryan and VIN each carried up the smaller children’s chests one at a time. Weighing 45 pounds, the men worked hard for six trips hauling up the remaining 18 smaller chests. Not only did they have to carry them out of the hole, the technicians with little to do for a few hours carried them up the stairs one by one inside the cavern before the same team had to head back up to the shuttle to begin hoisting the chests into the cargo hold one by one.
The weight of gold they could fit in was certainly a lot, just over a ton, and they still had twenty of the smaller chests remaining. These were loaded into Commander Joot’s spaceship for delivery.
Allen Saunders readied for flight as Bob Mathews arrived with Maggie, and flying in a load of diesel and supplies, the Chinook landed as the sun set. Bob and Maggie gave Ryan the list of supplies they had loaded into the chopper, and once night closed in, Allen launched SB-III.
As expected, the shuttle’s worried pilot Jonesy was with his wife and Bob in the command tent drinking a cold beer, ready to help Allen fly his baby.
“Shield fully extended, thrusters on warm up,” said Jamie over the radio.
“Warm her engines up to 1,500 degrees,” said Jonesy.
“SB-III to Chief Astronaut Jones. For once in her life this shuttle will be flown correctly,” joked Allen Saunders. “Suggest you give aid when asked for, General,”
“Roger that,” replied Igor. “I’ll give him another cold beer, or get him to haul the rest of those chests up if he doesn’t shut up, over.”
“You da man, Igor,” added Jamie. “Maggie, sort out that husband of yours. Temperatures at 1,500 degrees, main thrusters increasing to 30 percent…40….50….. 60…. 65 percent, lifting off effortlessly with a full load and heading vertical.”
Jonesy was handed another beer, a warm one just flown in, and that shut him up.
“Passing through 10,000 feet and looking good. You have just disappeared from our tracking devices,” said Igor into the mike.
“Roger, copy that, we have disappeared from all radar systems above and below us. We are on our own,” replied Allen.
“Thrusters increasing to 70 percent, nose coming up three degrees,” added Jamie.
“Jonesy I’m taking her up like an F-16 on heat as we discussed,” continued Allen. “The quicker we get out of the atmosphere the more fuel we save. The ride is approaching 30 degrees above horizontal, still zero Gees on our bodies. Jamie, give us 80 percent thrust. Let’s burn, baby.”
“An F-16 on heat? Did I miss this flight briefing, Mr. Jones?” Ryan asked his chief astronaut.
“Ryan, the shield hasn’t let us down up to now,” remarked Jonesy, looking at his lousy-tasting warm beer intently. “We need to reach 24,000 miles an hour to exit. Since we don’t use those backbreaking hydrogen pulse engines anymore, we might as well shoot out of Earth’s atmosphere like an F-16 on heat; afterburner, you know. And both Allen and I am sure that with the shield, there will be no drag on their bodies, and with a faster exit the shuttle will save fuel. A lot of fuel. Remember SB-III has only 50 percent of her normal launch fuel load.”
“Heading through 90,000 feet,” said Jamie. “Still on manual flight controls, changing to computer controlled flight now. Perfect trajectory, thrusters on 85 percent, heading through Mach 8. Shield seems okay out there, as much as we can see from the cockpit. Increasing thrust to 90 percent. Oops! The computer has frozen thrust at maximum 88 percent, as I expected, cruising through 105,000 feet, Mach 12, no pressure on the body at all. Allen, put on some music. We might as well dance, or go out for dinner. This is the easiest launch we have ever done. Passing through 159,000 feet, Mach 18, 88 percent thrust, 41 percent fuel remaining, everything looking good, over.”
“Well they are certainly on afterburner,” said Igor to Ryan. “They are 50,000 feet higher than normal, twice as fast, and fuel usage is only 3 percent above expectations.”
“I should be enjoying myself up there, not that old excuse for a general,” muttered Jonesy, trying to figure out whether actually flying up there was better than sitting in the peaceful warm desert enjoying a lousy lukewarm beer.
SB-III went into orbit with the last of the Matts and all the secret information of theirs in half the time it took a normal launch without the shield. Once in orbit, SB-III had saved 15 percent of the expected fuel. Ryan now understood how the Matts did it on 500 gallons of excellent quality alcohol. He also knew that nobody had followed the launch on radar; the new Israeli crew wouldn’t have seen the burning thrusters through the shield if they were still at the supply area, a 15 mile distance, there was absolutely no noise, and he had all the important scientific information out of harm’s way.
The young Matts would see Earth again, but as much older people, and by then the blue planet would certainly be a different world. They wouldn’t have recognized their current home anyway.
Chapter 13
Gold!
“What are we going to do with all these chests of gold?” Ryan asked Commander Joot, the only remaining Matt on Earth the next morning after the launch. They didn’t need suits to enter any of the cavern layers anymore, and the three rows of more gold than anybody had ever seen at one time stood dormant, awaiting its fate.
“Well, all the chest owners are long dead,” replied the commander to Ryan and Igor. He had thought long and hard about all these memories of his tribe. “You may do what you want with them. The chests themselves are only containers. You, Ryan, saved the last of our tribe. You Homo sapiens consider the yellow metal valuable, so each chest will have a badge of rank and others items of identity, which are worth as much as the chests themselves. If we could collect the contents, I will leave the use of the yellow metal up to you, and suggest you use them to purchase equipment or supplies for mine and your people to continue. The inside contents are more valuable to us Matts, and I believe we should close and seal this cavern for our own NextGen to arrive one day in the future. They will know what to do, like I did when I arrived a few days ago. It is in their DNA.”
“Thank you, Commander. We need to pay others for aiding us while on Earth,” replied Ryan gracefully. “My monetary value in America is now untouchable. I’m sure the remains have been stolen by the U.S. government, and what we can use of the gold from your tribe will benefit all of us in our new home.”
“I would now like to show you our cavern power systems, which are still behind a closed door,” continued Commander Joot—disposition of the gold chests now decided. “I’m sure that you will be surprised to see that the power systems will fit through the small door above us in one piece, and that they can be easily disconnected. Each one is about the size of one of our Ruler chests. Four of you Tall People could carry one out, I believe, and we can take three with us for our new homes.”
Ryan looked at the commander in shock. The power plants in the other caverns had not been found, or ever shown to the Homo sapiens, and these power systems were believed to be Cold Fusion electrical and power systems, something not yet mastered by the current race on Earth.
Commander Joot, with Igor and Ryan as excited as they had ever been, headed toward the rear wall of the lower level, passing through enough gold to nearly blind them.
The commander touched a part of the wall that did not show any evidence of having an opening panel, or mechanism behind it, and the Matt concentrated for several seconds. Slowly a door opened out of the blank wall as if by magic.
“Only a Matt can open this door, like the entrances into each level of this cavern,” Joot explained.
“We had better stand back for a few minutes to allow the air to mix,” suggested Ryan, and all three men headed back to the furthest gold chests away from the opened room.
For 15 minutes they opened a dozen chests, helped by Commander Joot. In each was a pin, always a small bird with gold and diamonds, or more pins. In each chest was a papyrus leaf Ryan was told was the name, birth history and genealogy of the person. Then there were a few other smaller papyrus leaves, which Joot said were reports on the education and proclivities of the person.
From the first box, Commander Joot told them about each Matt. “This was a boy who grew into a farming specialist. His name was Fon. His parents were Fod and Nad, his grandparents: Got and Fig, and Hiy and Rip. He is a third generation Matt born in our year 467, two generations before me, and he died about 300 years before I was born. He was schooled in farming, and was a helper of plant growth for seven outside farms. His education was in what you call perfecting corn, wheat, sugar cane, and the making of yeast. His pins are: a bird for a child, a bull for a teenager, and a buffalo as an adult showing he was a Master of Farming as his specialty. He died at 169 years old. He was killed by a marauding lion while out inspecting farms. His wife was Dot and he had two children, girls, Fen and Deng. We will find his family member’s boxes next to his.”
The commander opened the next three boxes and found Fon’s family members. All their personal effects were moved into Fon’s chest, and that gave Ryan three empty chests for barter, as Joot had described what they were to be used for.
Even these shoebox-sized yellow chests, which weighed about 40 to 45 pounds empty, and the three men joined five families together by moving all the effects into the father’s. Now Ryan and Igor had 20 chests, about a third of a ton of gold, and they hadn’t even made a minuscule dent in the numbers.
After replacing the filled family chests back onto a shelf, they each carried an empty chest up into the sun, three times, before a sweating Ryan reckoned it was time to check out the power room.
The inner room was not large when they returned to the coolness of the third level. The door was still open, and Ryan and Igor could see machinery and systems.
“We will need to leave one of the power units here,” said Commander Joot. “There is only one in each of the space bases. Three will give us a lifetime of power.”
The four power units standing separately in the room were about the size of large treasure chests, and had only a couple of inlet or outlet pipes. It all looked so simple.
“I’m afraid that if we leave a unit here, someone might take it and learn to use it,” Ryan suggested to the commander.
“They will never find it,” replied Joot. “Even if they get through a shield without a spacesuit. As I said, only a Matt can open the door into this room.”
“Or VIN cutting into it with a laser?” said Igor. Commander Joot thought about that for a while. He had seen the damage VIN could hand out to his walls and doors.
“I think VIN is the only person who could have thought out the problem. He also used lasers, something you told me the others here on Earth don’t yet have. But I have an idea. Each of these power machines has a tiny computer and memory. It has a complete history of the time it has been operational. I can program the fourth machine to destroy itself if it is ever moved by anybody who is not a Matt. How does that sound?”
Ryan replied that he thought it a good idea. The commander told Ryan and Igor that the machine would warn the Matt telepathically before it could be moved, and say how to disarm the protection instruction. Commander Joot then told the two that he had seen one of these machines explode once, when they were being tested. The explosion fifty miles away had vibrated the crater, and large rocks falling off the walls had killed two young boys.
“I wonder how much power these can produce compared to our Plutonium-238 running the mother ship,” Ryan said, looking at Igor.
“An explosion that big, I would say about five to ten times the power of our main power system, and that is ten pounds of 238,” was Igor’s reply. Ryan shook his head.
He had just found the mother lode of all power systems, and they had three units to use. That meant his lasers powered from one of these systems could be five to ten times more powerful.
“Jonesy is heading up with these tonight. Let’s get Bob Mathews to fly out to get more supplies so these are kept secret. Igor, get them loaded into SB-II. I want them out of here. Santa Claus has never been so good to us. He has outdone himself this year with these beauties,” replied Ryan excitedly.
“Enough power in a coffin-sized power unit to run an American aircraft carrier,” whistled Igor.
“One!” admonished Ryan. “Igor, at least two or three nuclear-powered carriers, and we have all the plans up in space. We need these up tonight. I don’t trust anybody on this planet.”
The rest of the day, and with the two caterpillars refueled, the crew sweated, swore, lifted and struggled all three of the units up the flights of stairs and into the sun-drenched hole.
By the time they had them up, the sun was already low on the horizon. They weighed about 600 pounds each and were hard to move. Once the earthmovers had lift straps underneath each block of metal, they easily carried them the rest of the way, and then lifted them into the shuttle’s holds.
Bob Mathews flew in as the third and last machine was carried up the road toward the shuttle and didn’t think to ask what the silver-colored block of metal was.
By this time, Jonesy and Maggie started their flight checks. The cargo was lifted in, tied down, the roof doors closed and sealed, the shield extended, and as soon as it was dark, the equipment then headed off into space.
Jonesy missed a boozy party that night. Ryan felt as if the whole world had been taken off his shoulders. He had worried for years, ever since finding the Matt bases, that there were secrets so valuable that a country would have invaded another country to get them. Now they were away in orbit and all safe from the Homo sapiens on Earth. He, Igor, and Bob Mathews were so happy and relieved, and the several technicians enjoyed several ice-cold beers that night.
Ryan’s next problem was to melt the gold chests and turn them into ingots, and he knew exactly where to ask for that equipment.
It was quite a shock to his contacts in Tel Aviv when Ryan flew in with Bob Mathews the next day. Ryan was certainly not qualified to fly the Chinook, but he was a quick learner. Bob instructed him on the three-hour flight. Ryan could now fly several aircraft and the shuttles as well as any copilot could. There was no other copilot for Bob, so Ryan went with. He was getting crater fever anyway.
When he asked for a gas melting kiln for temperatures of around 2,500 degrees, his Israeli friends knew that there was gold or something similar on Ryan’s property. Metal mining was the last thought they had to why Ryan wanted this piece of desert so badly, and he alleviated their many ideas of what he was doing there. He then asked if his contacts would be interested in a ton of pure gold for all the equipment he had used but not paid for yet. They happily agreed.
Ryan had deflated the precious metal and diamond prices a decade earlier mining asteroids, and the value of gold had still not risen to those values. At $980.00 U.S. dollars per ounce, a metric ton was still worth $31,500,000.00 U.S., far more than he owed the Israelis. The grading equipment and transportation already giving him a new dirt runway was to be about $1 million. The cost for the helicopters and transportation came to $2 million. Jet fuel, diesel, gasoline, food, supplies and fuel came to another $2 million, so he asked them to fill up the Dead Chicken, the Gulfstream, as Kathy and his daughters were still in Tel Aviv, and the Chinook. He was quite surprised to be told that the smelting equipment would cost him less than ten thousand.
After spending a night with his family, and having the Chinook filled with a 1,000 pound kiln, gas bottles, ingot-making equipment, water, fish, meat, vegetables, beer, champagne, diesel, and any other luxuries he could get together in twelve hours, Bob Mathews took the Chinook off to return to the crater. He hadn’t yet spent a third of the first ton of gold.
An hour before nightfall, they landed at the broken runway. It looked a little less than a war zone. Three transport aircraft had landed during the day with more equipment, and the officer in command said to Bob and Ryan that the Dead Chicken could arrive empty the next day, but with a heavy cargo, the engineers would need two more days of work before the leveled area was large and packed down enough.
All the next day the crew worked on first emptying the Chinook, and then hauling up the empty gold chests, turning them into gold ingots. The ingots weighed 27 pounds. The three chests that could fit into the kiln were turned into two separate ingots in the bottom trays of the kiln every hour. The men worked hard to keep the kiln fed with gold.
Commander Joot and Igor worked as a team to collect the family belongings together, found most families to comprise four chests, and the technicians and Ryan sweated carrying the other three up the stairs to the waiting earthmover. Bob Mathews drove the Caterpillar and helped stack the kiln with the heavy gold chests.
Getting an ingot for him and each of the girls would be enough to keep his mouth tightly closed, since Ryan told him that the gold was why they were here, and that there would be no more once this smelting was done.
For four solid days, they smelted 120 chests a day. Everyone felt as if they were on a mining expedition, and the crew began to get very fit. The filled chests were neatly placed on the empty shelves, and Ryan and Igor, when they had breaks, walked the whole of the Pig’s Snout cavern with the commander.
Captain Pete was very silent up in America One, but Ryan did get a nightly checkup from above. The mother ship was again filled with people. Every free bed was taken.
Commander Joot told Ryan that night, after they discussed whether they had enough gold, that it would be wise to take some of the yellow metal. He only had half his full cargo weight in chests in his craft, and his tanks were once again filled with 500 gallons of quality Australian ethanol. The Aussies couldn’t figure out why Ryan wanted so much alcohol. The commander also needed a copilot and could take up more supplies with the cargo of gold. Ryan did not have a copilot for Joot, and he had two choices. Either he, or Bob Mathews could go up for his first flight into space.
America One would be gone in a few weeks, and it didn’t matter anymore if Bob saw the shield around the mother ship. He had seen them on Earth. Bob couldn’t explain the workings of a shield any better than Jonesy or Ryan could, and they had been seen from Earth, in Low Earth Orbit.
“Commander Joot needs a copilot. He can actually fly his craft with just one astronaut, but needs a backup just in case. Bob, you have a chance to fly into space and see our operation up there. Want to go?”
Bob was rather shocked. Ryan was changing his ways, when the boss called him Bob instead of Mr. Mathews.
“I thought that was a no-no?” replied Bob. “Hell, for one flight into space and back, it would be a dream come true. Believe you me Ryan, as long as others down here don’t know that I ever went up with you, and since I’m the only person down here that has seen an extraterrestrial, that is, Commander Joot, who is no taller than a darn kid, why not. It would certainly be a story to tell the girls one day when you are long gone.”
“You are lucky you are six inches shorter and of a smaller build than Mr. Jones,” smiled Ryan. “He doesn’t fit into the commander’s craft too easily. Since we recently got a thousand gallons of ethanol, the commander can complete two flights. We need to move to Australia in about a week, so you could go up with the commander and return with the Jones family. I promised them some fishing time, and a couple of tons or so of frozen fish could be a real luxury for us old Earth folk up there when we leave. You will need to wear a spacesuit, and I can get Igor to give you a couple of hours of training tomorrow. The flight up to the mother ship should be about seven hours. You need to be taught how to change over the fuel supply tanks in his two craft.”
Bob enthusiastically agreed. He had wanted to be on one of the launches since day one, but that meant him joining the crew, and fishing to Bob was far more important than flying around planets.
“Have you ever thought of buying your very own island?” Bob asked Ryan, the deal into space done. “It would give you more privacy one day if you ever return.”
“I have never thought about an island, and I doubt that I will live long enough to see this beautiful planet again. But, Bob, you could be onto something. We don‘t need a 10,000 foot runway, and if our NextGen want to return to Earth one day, maybe a private island somewhere could be the answer. I have this property on watch by both the Libyans and the Israelis. I’m hoping they will watch each other. You know I will be speaking to Doug about the runway area for a 99 year lease. At the same time, I could purchase an island as a secret retreat for our children. I think Mr. Jones and Mr. Noble would prefer the Indian Ocean. Maybe I will leave you with some gold and you can find a retreat for America One’s children one day.”
“How would I get the information to outer space?” asked Bob. “I don’t think any postal service goes that far.”
“I suppose you will have a fine home one day, Bob. Actually I will leave you a supply of gold. Find an island, put up a house or some sort of accommodations, say, a hotel, and when we return I will leave a trail for our kids to find where your offspring are. You live there and we’ll come and take it over when you don’t need it anymore. Just warn your next of kin. Got any ideas?”
“Yes, that sounds like a second dream come true just today,” smiled Bob, now really excited. “There is one island I have my eye on in the Seychelles, the most northerly island in the chain. It might be on the market soon for some stupid amount. Some $35 million I was told about a year or two back. It’s small, only a few acres, and used to be a resort. Then there is one in Fiji I love. One hundred acres and very remote. I fish in both these areas all the time. This one has title and is for sale for about $55 million. The third one is in the Whitsunday Islands off Australia. This 19-acre island is a beaut, a fantastic place to live, and the whole island could be on the market soon for about $80 million.”
“I will organize you 3 tons of gold, which should be enough to purchase the island and build a nice hotel for a hundred or so people. Make it a 200 guest hotel, and we will come and find it one day. If not, it is your family’s. We can ship the gold out with the next Aussie flight. That should appease Mr. Jones, or Mr. Noble. Actually it should give a nice home to Mars and Saturn when they return. I reckon they will be our new leaders one day.”
Thinking that he was either very drunk or just dreaming about islands, Ryan checked with Bob the next morning. It hadn’t been a dream, so he and the crew got on with smelting more gold.
For three more days, Ryan and most of the technicians sweated with the gold. Commander Joot spent the whole first day rearranging the chests before taking Bob Mathews on the ride of his life that night. Two of the technicians had been pleased to teach Bob how to use a spacesuit instead of carrying gold up the stairs. Bob needed the suit, as he would be helped into America One with the commander at the end of his flight through the vacuum of space.
The last problem in the cavern was the third Matt spaceship. Commander Joot had worked powering the dead systems back into life. It had taken a few days, but the ship was flyable. Unfortunately, more sand had to be moved for the cavern roof to open. Ryan was worried that if they opened the roof, the sand might prevent it from closing again. So the decision was made to set up another shield at the entrance they had used, to prevent anybody getting into the first level, and to leave the ship in its graveyard. It was imperative to make sure that the sand was replaced in the crater to make sure nobody could find the cavern. Ryan thanked his lucky stars that there were not cameras in space filming his every move inside the crater.
Now there was nobody left in the crater to fly the Chinook except himself until any pilots returned. The Dead Chicken would be arriving at the newly flattened airfield on the third day, and Jonesy and Maggie were returning in SB-III with Joot, Captain Pete, Jonesy’s father, Dr. Nancy, Suzi, Mars and Saturn a day earlier than the Galaxy. VIN would be in control of the mother ship while Captain Pete had a vacation with his bride-to-be on Earth. They were to be married.
Until SB-IIIs arrival, there was no way in or out of the crater without using outside help, and Ryan certainly didn’t want others to see the pile of ingots growing as the kiln worked fifteen hours a day.
The shuttle silently arrived above the crater fifty hours later, and it was time to dig in the hole and get out of Dodge.
Captain Pete, thin, white and totally weak, was utterly shocked to see how brown, fit and muscular Ryan and the ground crew had become. The new visitors were pleased to feel the hot sun again, and that night, over beers and barbecued chicken, stories abounded from the newbies on living in space. Jonesy’s father loved the ship, the lower “gravity” levels the electromagnetism caused. It helped him transport his aging body around easier.
Next morning, the commander headed down to the third level and was impressed to see that one half of a row of chests had been used up. One sixth of the gold in the cavern had been melted into ingots, 500 of them, 13,000 pounds ready for shipment. On the last day, as new astronaut Bob Mathews and Joseph Jones Senior closed the hole, the completed ingots were flown down in the Chinook in three loads to the supply depot and placed into dozens of thick wooden boxes, old munitions cases supplied by the Israeli military.
One fifth of the gold, ten munitions boxes, were heading back to Israel. The rest were to be packed into the rest of the munitions cases, and then reloaded back into the Chinook to head to the runway. The Dead Chicken wouldn’t sneeze at a load so light.
It took two more days to fill the deep hole, level the floor of the crater, and make it look like nothing was out of place.
SB-III lifted off to return to space with the remaining 500 gallons of ethanol, and the last Dewar of extra liquid hydrogen in its aft hold, while the crew compartment was filled with any remaining luxuries and supplies. Commander Joot and Elder Roo lifted off in the Matt craft with 500 gallons of extra ethanol, and half a ton of gold chests aboard. There were no spacecraft left inside the crater, and nobody on Earth should have seen any of the craft enter or exit the atmosphere.
Ryan’s remaining supplies were then flown down to the leveled airfield where Bob and his girls were checking over the big bird. The last of the supplies of tents, porta-potties, and the kiln were transported out of the Pig’s Snout, the Chinook working hard as the large Russian helicopter arrived over the crater, and within a couple of hours lifted the two Caterpillars down to the runway.
The only item of equipment remaining was one of the Israeli camera systems. One camera powered by solar panels had been hidden high up on the crater lip. It had an upward delivery dish, painted in sand-camouflage, and would send any captured feed to the mother ship as it passed overhead. The camera was well hidden, the solar panels painted in matte black, and they had a non-reflective coating on the glass. The system would be activated by movement, and Ryan wanted to see who would come calling.
The second camera system given to him by the Israelis was packed in the Dead Chicken, to give eyes to their new base in Australia. They could gather any feed daily when the Earth revolved, with the crater underneath the departing mother ship. Both Igor and Ryan knew that they would lose any feed about 200,000 miles out into space, but that was still a month away, and both were sure that sneaky eyes would be in the crater long before that.
On the final flight out of the crater and having a ride in the Russian helicopter lifting out the second Caterpillar, Ryan, Igor, Mars Noble and Saturn Jones said goodbye to the Pig’s Snout.
Some would never see it again, some would, but it was time to move on.
Chapter 14
Good Day Australia
Ryan and his crew had now been down on Earth for nearly two months. He was quite shocked at how much had taken place in such a short time. To many of them, it now felt like the odyssey had been nothing more than a dream, and Commander Joot was proof that it hadn’t.
Many of the crew had often thought about whether to remain on Earth, or to return with their family to the other planet. What Commander Joot had told him about the tribe began to niggle Ryan – how the old tribe had visited the Matts thousands of years ago, which the commander thought were living on Mars. Ryan was beginning to wonder if he should have left a weapon for the remaining crew to protect themselves. They had the stun guns and Allen Saunders’s .44 Magnum, but that wasn’t much against possible modern alien weapons.
This tribe ate people, were rather warlike, and he wondered about their weapons. It was nearing time to go home, as it would still take America One six months to reach the red planet.
But for the next few weeks, Australia was to be their new home. Suzi had asked for more topsoil to increase the farming area, if Ryan was thinking of returning with more inhabitants. He was, and wanted to launch at least ten tons of the richest topsoil he could get for Suzi. Also, because Mars was drawing closer to Earth on its orbit around the sun for the next several weeks, it wouldn’t matter if they left now or in a couple of weeks’ time. The flight distance would be much the same.
Being in Australia would be safe from any more attacks from the Big Bad Three, and he was looking forward to visiting the country he had heard to be very friendly and beautiful.
The Dead Chicken could still take more cargo, once one of the Bradley Fighting Vehicles, the two jeeps, and most of the remaining supplies were forklifted in from the supply depot halfway to the crater. The runway was now hard-packed dirt 4,000 feet long. It had piles of broken tarmac each side of the new blacktop, and the surrounding area still looked like an old battleground. The balance, that is the second Bradley and the remains of any fuels and gases, was to be picked up by an Australian C-17.
A second Chinook from the Libyan Air Force arrived to pick up their helicopter and to present Ryan with a few gifts: dates and other delicacies from Tripoli. The Libyan government was paid several of the gold ingots to cancel out any debts and to protect Ryan’s territory.
Fifty-nine days after returning to Earth from Mars, the crew left for Australia. The C-5 Galaxy was certainly not a stealth aircraft, and everyone knew that they were back on everybody’s radar as they climbed through 30,000 feet.
Jonesy’s Gulfstream, flown by Kathy Richmond and Monica, caught them up as they left Ryan’s airspace to the southeast. They exited Libya together and flew southeast over the Red Sea.
Ryan’s family had really had a good time in Israel. They had lived in a beautiful hotel in Tel Aviv, learned to scuba dive in Eilat, visited Jerusalem, and as Kathy told Ryan over the radio, were ready to leave. She and their two daughters had witnessed Martin Brusk set up a deal in Tel Aviv to form a new car production company. He and his family was staying, but had sent a message via Kathy that he now needed those container ships to be packed up in California to head through the Panama Canal to his new home.
“Astermine Airways, one former U.S. Air Force Charlie 5 requesting fuel, over,” said Bob Mathews as he saw a radar blip on the edge of his screen six hours later. They were 100 miles south of the Maldives.
“Copy that, Astermine Airlines, and G’day to you,” came an Australian voice over the radio. “We have you on radar at 36,000 feet and 158 miles northwest of our position. We are descending through 38,000 feet and will have our bird ready to clean your windscreen and fill up your tanks in 58 minutes. Due to our extended flight to get out here, we have enough A-1 quality Aussie fuel for you for only five hours of flight. A second tanker will be ready to intercept you 150 miles off the north Australian coast at the following coordinates to top you off for your last two hours of flight into your new base. I heard your new base is hot, damn hot, and the only people around there, mate, are aborigines and kangaroos. The air conditioning is in, and operational, and I heard there is the odd cold beer down there. You could have picked a better spot.”
Most slept as night closed in around the lone aircraft. The Gulfstream was flying 12,000 feet higher, at a slow, economical cruise 50 miles behind the C-5. It had the range to cover the flight nonstop.
A new day beckoned the two aircraft to the southern continent as it appeared over the horizon, and so did the northwest coast of Australia, 38,000 feet below the C-5 and 49,000 feet below the Gulfstream still many miles behind the larger aircraft.
Hot coffee was the first order of the day on both aircraft as they flew over land for the first time in eleven hours. Bob Mathews was flying with Captain Pete, enjoying himself in the copilot’s seat as their third desert opened up in front of them.
“I still don’t know why you guys want to go and dig yourselves a hole somewhere in the middle of the solar system when you can see all the Earth’s beauty like this,” Bob said to the man next to him.
“I know,” Captain Pete replied. “With Ryan it’s either in the middle of a darn desert or in the middle of nowhere on Mars. I’m beginning to think that we are all missing out on something. He was talking about an island. Find us a nice one, and maybe he’ll let some of us retire down here when we get old.”
“Can the shuttles make a flight from Mars to Earth?” Bob asked.
“All of our craft can, even Asterspace Three. They all have emergency long-range supply cylinders that can be attached for extended flight. The mining craft will be cramped during a long flight, but Ryan left orders for new crew compartments to be built by the builders on Mars so that each craft can return to Earth solo in an emergency. Now that we have found more shields, all our craft can reenter Earth’s atmosphere again.”
“You giving all our secrets to our Earthling pilot here, Captain Pete?” asked Ryan as a joke when he entered carrying two mugs of freshly brewed coffee. Igor behind Ryan had some baklava for the pilots on a plate.
“Maybe it is time to teach you something about spaceflight, Bob,” added Igor. “You have us on a direct heading to our new base, correct?”
“Within seventy feet off to the side of the new runway, where the directional homing beacon is beeping at us from,” Bob replied. Ryan and Igor had cups for themselves and sat in the rear cockpit engineer seats.
“As you know Bob, planet Mars is one of the brightest objects in the night sky, easily visible with the unaided eye as a bright red object,” began Igor. He knew that Bob knew most of what was about to be said, but kept it simple anyway. “I’m sure you have navigated your fishing boat using the red planet. Every two years or so, Mars and Earth reach their closest point, called “opposition,” when Mars can be as close as 35 million miles from Earth. Instead of pointing America One directly at Mars, like you are pointing this aircraft at the beacon, Captain Pete will boost the orbit of the mother craft so that it’s following a larger and larger outgoing orbit around the Earth until we reach about 300,000 miles. Then with our rear ion thrusters blazing away on full power, he will direct the ship to a point where Mars will be at the exact time we will reach the same point. The faster and more use of fuel, the shorter the distance. Remember the ion thrusters take a couple of weeks to get us up to speed, but once we are cruising at over 35,000 miles an hour, we can intersect that future position of Mars. Our fastest cruising speed is about 70,000 miles an hour. We have never travelled that fast yet, and these speeds are not very fast in terms of space travel, and a waste of precious fuel if we go any faster than 40,000.”
“The older NASA unmanned craft just completed hundreds of orbits over a longer period to reach the same intersection,” added Ryan. “We intersect the planet faster than any other craft before us, and reach the mark in space, all calculated by computers.”
“The shortest journey time from Earth to Mars at perfect opposition would take between 159-180 days depending on the spacecraft completing the journey,” continued Captain Pete, enjoying his breakfast of baklava and coffee. “But since there is no perfect opposition time, what I mean is that we must begin our journey at least two months before opposition; we will travel further than the 35 million miles, as we will reach the planet after opposition is passed. Understand?”
Bob nodded.
“We will end up traveling more like 45 to 50 million miles in a curved line before, during and after opposition. Our total journey will be about 115 million miles, including the orbits at both ends. The three shuttles are far faster than America One, as she is the slowest of all our craft. It all really just depends on how much fuel you’re willing to burn to get here or there. More fuel, shorter travel time. Also, like your aircraft’s ‘Top of Descent’ when going in to land, we need deceleration time: two months for America One to decelerate from about 35,000 miles an hour down to about 24,000. This adds to a longer and further point of intersection with Mars, or Earth, as they are both moving rapidly on their separate orbits around the sun. The reason the smaller craft are quicker is due to their abilities to speed up or slow down ten times faster than the big ship, with the power and size of their thrusters. Liquid hydrogen is a far more powerful fuel and thrust medium in small craft. Thanks to these blue Matt shields, it is now possible to push the small craft the whole distance with 50 percent less fuel at far shorter times, and reentry is now possible, as well as departure.”
“So if you had fuel supplies on Mars and Earth and you have stealth on your side, why don’t you set up a shuttle route between planets? Say, a two-year round trip so that some of your crew could visit us?” replied Bob. “Say, it takes you six months to get here, and you leave a couple of months before the next opposition to Mars. That will give your crew more than a year to relax on your new island, go fishing, and allow some of us Earthlings to visit you guys before your return journey. I certainly don’t want to leave Earth forever, but I would enjoy spending two years on a round trip ticket. I know that none of your astronauts really want to leave forever, but you could start the first interplanetary bus route. Maybe something to think about?”
“Something certainly worth thinking about,” said Ryan. Sometimes new ideas came out of nowhere, and now Ryan knew why Bob Mathews was working on his island idea. He wanted to see his friends again.
“A visit back to Earth gravity for more than a year could help with our bone loss and the other bodily problems we are certainly going to face in the future,” Igor added.
“Now that interests me, and I’m sure it will interest our doctors,” replied Ryan.
“And our biologists,” remarked Igor.
“And my buddies, your astronauts,” smiled Bob.
“I believe, Mr. Mathews, you have been working on this plan for some time?” Ryan queried Bob, looking at him sideways.
“Ever since I heard those alien blue shields saved so much fuel,” he replied. A dull beeping sound began filling the cockpit. “We are at ‘Top of Descent’ for our new base; I have to get back to flying this chicken. I hope I have the use of it when you guys are away. I’m sure I could start an airline or something?”
“Astermine Airlines certainly doesn’t sound as good as Virgin, but you will need to fly supplies onto our island once it has a runway,” replied Ryan. “Have you noticed how much international currency we have aboard?”
Bob Mathews easily brought the C-5 in to land using half of the 6,000 feet of newly tarred runway twenty minutes before the Gulfstream came in. His idea gave the crew real excitement once they all had a briefing two hours after the second aircraft had flown into their new base. Kathy and Monica had taken it easy on the long distant flight, on an extremely slow cruise at high altitude to complete the flight without refueling. They had flown 350 miles further than the C-5.
SB-II, with its newly completed made-in-space crew compartment, and using its shield vertically, landed on the new launch pad twelve hours later, only a few hundred feet from where the new housing was. Two large hangars on cement bases were already completed so that the shuttles could be towed out of the hot sun. SB-II, flown in by Allen and Jamie Saunders, had arrived with Jonesy, Maggie, Jonesy’s mother, who had decided to attempt a reentry, and the rest of the technical crew who hadn’t yet made it down. Since the techies had completed the second twelve-person crew compartment while in orbit, they needed R & R.
Michael, Penny Pitt, VIN and Vitaliy were still up in America One with Dr. Walls and were enjoying the meetings of all the NextGen. The kids from both tribes now constituted the majority of the crew, now numbering sixty versus the thirteen adult crewmembers aboard. Dr. Walls, as well as Commander Joot and Elder Roo, were in charge of the children, and only VIN and Vitaliy were in charge of the bridge. SB-III was still docked onto the mother ship and had two technicians, who had already been on vacation in Nevada, servicing her. It was time to allow the crew to relax.
The world below America One had been quiet. VIN, as stand-in Commander, still had SB-I and three of the mockup craft orbiting around the globe, and that was enough to keep the bad countries below in check.
From now on the astronauts would be taking time off in shifts. There was no hydrogen fuel yet on the base. The C-17 from the Sahara with the second Bradley and the supplies of hydrogen fuel aboard was arriving the next day with Doug in a second aircraft bringing in hydrogen fuel supplies. The occasion was the official handing over of the title of the 20,000 acre military base to Astermine Co., and the wedding of America One’s captain.
“I see you are all in favor of Bob’s idea,” laughed Ryan, watching his crew’s excitement. “A regular shuttle service down to Earth every two years.” Because there were no Matts or Matt craft on base, Bob’s girls had been allowed to stay for the wedding. The two of them hadn’t seen anything to do with the Matts as yet, but had seen the blue shield around the craft as they landed.
“I would be happy to offer myself and my ladies as the shuttle bus drivers every now and again,” replied Bob, smiling.
“Bob Mathews, ladies, I’m sure you would enjoy coming to visit us. We will have to leave a few spacesuits, and get you in training before you can fly. It’s a long journey, and you will have a lot of time for all three of you to become astronauts. Unfortunately, once up there, you will know our secrets, and I’m sure that you respect us enough to not let them out to anybody else. Please, all of you think how angry these governments and countries might become in the near future if they realize that we have enough new technology to make them the most powerful countries on Earth. We must even keep our shield and weapon secrets away from our best friends, such as the Canadians, Libyans, Israelis and Australians. So if you Earthlings and others are allowed into our new home sometime in the future, you will have to take our secrets to your grave with you.”
“Or we will set a mean former General Jones on you with his laser,” added Allen Saunders. “Surely, Ryan, the Cold Fusion systems could help Earth?”
“I’m debating that exact topic with Igor,” smiled Ryan.
Jonesy and the rest of the astronauts were glad to be back, even if the desert was so hot that it could melt metal. There was an even larger pool than in Nevada, the rooms were luxurious, the food excellent, and there were enough beers in large refrigerators to quench the thirst of several armies, not just them.
Ryan knew what Doug and his government were trying to do, tempt him and his crew into staying, but that was not going to work. Not on the Australian continent anyway.
“I don’t give an honest day’s pay to anything else than going fishing. Is my family runabout everybody else has been using fueled up?” Jonesy commented.
They were all in the newly erected bar, an Australian place of communication and relaxation, Bob Mathews explained to Ryan. Why was the bar right in the middle of the base, as if protected by all the other buildings? Why was it so big like a town hall? Ryan needed to be explained the Australian way of life. These Aussies thought that the consumption of beer was rather important, maybe the most important beverage in the world, and Ryan thanked his lucky stars that Commander Joot and Elder Roo wouldn’t be arriving anytime soon.
“Tomorrow, Mr. Jones, after the wedding,” shouted Bob, “we are expecting an air refueling transporter or two with many thousand pounds of good grade jet fuel for your little vehicle. It seemed that they thought the cold beers, a whole C-130 of them, were far more important for the ceremony, and it seems that we tied up their air tankers keeping us fueled in Africa. The supply tanks and pumps here on base were completed a day or so before we arrived.”
“Well, you can depend on the Aussies for good beer,” replied a rather intoxicated Jonesy. “It is so hot that I reckon I could drink that whole cargo tonight. They should have left the C-130 as well. We could have brought back the fish I’m going to catch.”
“All balloons of hot air, and not a brain cell between them,” joked Allen at Jonesy’s boasting.
“You want to step outside, General? I’m sure there hasn’t been a fistfight between two generals in the United States Air Force, ever. We could be the first.”
“Not much media around here to make your fight famous,” said Jamie Saunders.
“I wouldn’t even bother watching,” added Dr. Nancy.
“Me neither,” added Jonesy’s father.
“John Jones, I suggest you try not to empty that airplane of beer tonight,” added his mother, enjoying her second. It was nice to be back on Earth again.
Mars Noble, Saturn Jones and the two Richmond girls were together again. They had missed each other and were playing pool on the bar’s only table.
“Well, I think Bob’s plan has merit. With the shields, it won’t be a fuel problem to return to Earth every two years. I might even return myself a few times as fishing with Mr. Jones and Mr. Noble is fun, and we could keep secret eyes on the goings-on here on Earth. Let’s take a vote, Martians only. Who wants the opportunity to vacation here on Earth?”
Every one of his crewmembers put their hands up, even Captain Pete.
“I think a spot of fishing in my retiring years could become a hobby,” said Captain Pete, smiling and looking at his wife-to-be. “I think many of us realized that we might never see this planet again and had got used to the fact. I think Jonesy has started something here. Nothing beats a cold beer, a hot day with dry air, the smell of the sea, and freshly caught Mahi-Mahi on your plate for dinner, my favorite. I’m game.”
It seemed that they weren’t leaving Earth after all. Even Kathy Richmond had put up her hand. Even the four youngsters, two his own daughters, came up to him and told him that it was a good idea, whatever fishing was. The new generation was still unfamiliar with some of the old habits of living on Earth.
“So, let us say we have a crew of 200 on Mars one day,” said Ryan to his crew listening. “In one of our crew compartments, twelve members plus two pilots in the cockpit will have enough room: about the same room as inside a miniature submarine to ride back here once every two years. That means it will take two decades to allow the whole crew to return.”
“Use the second crew compartment in the same flight,” suggested Allen Saunders.
“Allow both SB-III and SB-II to return,” added Jonesy, popping an Australian New Powers Lager. “I’ll be happy to be bus driver with Maggie, and I’m the one with the transport out of this sauna. What’s it called again?”
“The Gibson Desert,” said Bob.
“Why not redesign and fit the ship’s emergency supply cylinder below the shuttle as well as use the two crew compartments,” added Kathy Richmond. “Outfit it for both accommodations and supplies, and the shield will protect it during reentry. Half the fuel of two shuttles with even more room for passengers.”
Both Ryan and Igor were surprised at what their think-tank group, now well-oiled, could think up.
Kathy Richmond’s idea was best, and because the supply cylinder doubled the roominess of two crew compartments, up to 50 people could return in reasonable comfort. The party got rowdy that night, as there wasn’t any flying the next day. The wedding was in the morning, the fuel tankers were only due in late in the afternoon, and the visitors were expecting to stay the next night.
The next day was a day of festivities. Captain Pete and Dr. Nancy were married in the early morning, outside in the warming sun. Ryan as acting ship’s captain married them. There weren’t many gifts available to be purchased, and they received many IOUs. Jonesy gave them a six-pack each. They sang and congratulated the pair, who quickly disappeared for the rest of the day.
The others, still sober as only one round of beer was agreed upon by all to celebrate, checked out the surrounding desert, their new runway and buildings and got used to walking around upside down compared to walking on the Nevada desert.
There were no Australian personnel at all on the base. Ryan had wanted it that way, as he wanted privacy for their short stay. It was two hours before dark before the first aircraft could be seen on radar in their reconstructed Desert Control Center. This center in the old control tower had the most modern radar equipment from the Royal Australian Air Force, which gave them eyes for 200 miles in all directions. VIN in America One gave them eyes over the rest of the world.
Ryan had contacted VIN before they had even landed on the new base, from the C-5, and had asked him to contact some of their old crew still in Nevada. VIN had got ahold of Sergeant Meyers living on the shores of Lake Tahoe, and Meyers had told VIN that he could round up some of the cooks, cleaners and a few of the security guards still in the area. Meyers was ordered to charter a long-range jet and come visit Australia for a few weeks.
The sergeant called him late that afternoon, through VIN, telling Ryan that the word had gone out like wildfire. Eighteen of the original base employees and ten of the guards wanted to come and visit. The sergeant had arranged two private jets out of California, both of which had refueled in Honolulu several hours earlier and were currently two hours out from Australian soil.
Meyers also had a message which shocked Ryan. He had a letter from the U.S. President to hand to his daughter, wherever she was, in return for safe passage of the two aircraft out of the country. The word had really gone far, and Ryan wondered who would have given out the information all the way to Washington, not that it really mattered anymore. All his secrets were already up in space. The only answer was that the communications between VIN and Sergeant Meyers had not been private.
The owners of the two corporate jets were the pilots, and Meyers had told them that Ryan’s credit was still good. Since they had been used by Ryan before, they were happy to oblige.
An hour after Ryan received the message from VIN, a corporate jet, then the first Royal Australian Air Force C-130, came in to land, then a second, and then two Airbus A330 refueling tankers landed.
“Great to see you on Australian soil. I’m glad you took us up on your offer, Ryan,” Doug said as he was welcomed off the small jet by Ryan and Kathy, Igor, Bob Mathews and Allen Saunders.
“I’m already enjoying your hospitality, Doug,” Ryan replied. “I need entry authorization for two incoming jets from Hawaii. A few of my staff from Nevada: cooks, security guards, you know?”
“Yes, our Air Force HQ has already spoken to a Lieutenant Noble, somewhere up there,” Doug said, pointing to the heavens. “The two jets are already on a flight plan for this base, and they will be met by a couple of our boys on the coast, to be welcomed and escorted here.”
For the rest of that night the airfield became busy. Two underground fuel tanks were filled by one tanker, while the other refueled the Dead Chicken. One C-130 offloaded 500 pound tanks of liquid hydrogen, while the second Hercules was emptied of frozen and fresh supplies.
An hour after the last aircraft arrived, the C-17 from Africa asked for landing clearance. Two hours later, the two jets from Hawaii came in, and the base became busy. As there would be aircraft leaving over the next four or five hours, the Air Force astronauts cooked a fine meal for the personnel on the ground. It would be too noisy to try and sleep.
As the desert cooled, the porch outside the bar filled with chatter and laughter well into the night. Only Jonesy wasn’t there. He had taxied his aircraft to one of the Airbuses for refueling just before the two jets from the U.S. got in the queue. Jonesy was checking out the controls for the next day’s 4,500-mile fishing flight into Victoria, the capital of the Seychelles. There were only a couple of things more important in Jonesy’s life than beer, and those were fishing and flying in that order.
Now that the Jones family was all together again, it was time to enjoy the last few weeks on Earth. Allen and Jamie Saunders were heading back up in 36 hours with Captain Pete, Dr. Nancy, and two tons of frozen fish, offloaded from one of the C-130s. Doug could only stay 24 hours, and he and Ryan needed to talk. That they did over a private breakfast the next morning.
“I appreciate your paying for the goods we have provided up to now,” said Doug over scrambled eggs and bacon. “Australia is not as wealthy a country as we were a decade ago, when you guys left. The lack of international trade has hurt us tremendously, but it has also strengthened our self-sufficiency and bonded us as a nation far more than ever before. We now trade mostly with New Zealand, the Pacific Islands and Indonesia. Thanks to Indonesia, you have wonderful coffee, something I’ve been told you can’t do without. Until the cubes return when you guys leave, we are trading with the Middle East again with our largest ships in both directions, so please don’t leave too quickly. We hope you stay for a month, as that will allow 3,000 ships to safely travel in either direction. We have so much to offer the Middle East and vice versa. You being here will give us an extra $2 trillion in trade. It would be so nice if the Big Bad Three would allow international trade again, but we don’t envisage any freedom for a long while yet. Unless you can do something about it?”
“What could I do?” Ryan asked. “I have hit their launch sites over 10,000 times, and still believe they have dozens more.”
“I don’t know what you could do except meet with the leaders of each country. They won’t listen to me, or anybody out there in the rest of the world. It is like a stalemate down here,” replied Doug sadly.
“I will try and speak, or even meet, with the leaders of those countries. I have already been asked to contact the U.S. President,” Ryan continued.
“I’m sure it is regarding the disappearance of his only daughter,” Doug said.
“Correct, and I will be patched into Washington in a couple of hours’ time.”
“I’m sure you can imagine how difficult world communications are without the old communications satellites, the internet, even cell phones,” continued Doug. “Now it is only the old sea cables that give us an opportunity to reach outside our borders, and we think the Chinese are cutting these lines with their fleet of submarines. It seems that if they can’t rule the world of trade, then they are not going to allow any world trade.”
“You have been in contact with Chinese submarines?” Ryan asked.
“Yes, many times,” returned Doug quickly. “About three years ago, every time one of our small 1,000-ton freighters left one of our northern ports for Indonesia or our eastern ports for Auckland, it sank within 20 miles of our harbors. This size of vessel cannot be often seen from the cubes in space. When the cubes did see the movement of a larger vessel, they attacked. With the cubes, and apart from having fighters in the area, there was nothing we could do. Our fighters could easily become the targets. We moved our six naval submarines into our busiest trading channels. Even though our submarine fleet was never as modern as the British or American submarines, we were certainly better than the Chinese Navy. They had smaller, less sophisticated vessels, and we destroyed eighteen of their subs before our ships began to get through again. It took a year, but we finally reduced their attacks to only one or two a month.”
“Must have hurt your shipping fleet,” Ryan said.
“You’re right there, mate. To the tune of 395 vessels sunk in twelve months, more than one a day. We lost one of our subs, and that led us, as your friend the former U.S. President said, to a worldwide shipbuilding boom. We certainly set ourselves up to produce our share. Few countries in the world have what we have: large amounts of raw materials and ground metals to produce what we needed. In the last three years, we have built over 900, smaller one- to three-thousand ton freighters and three new submarines, specially built as Chinese submarine hunters. We have another three submarines about to be launched, and are keeping up with the new attackers arriving from China. We still lose about two to three ships a month, but destroy four or five of their submarines. Your arrival has caused a lull in the attacks from space, so we brought all our large vessels out of mothballs, 366 container ships and bulk carriers, and are plowing the seas in all directions with the loss of only three ships in the last month so far. Your return caught the Chinese submarine builders and one or two Russian submarines off guard. We think that the Russian and Chinese production sites have been turned toward cube manufacture, for when you leave.”
“Russian submarines?” asked Ryan.
“Only in the last few months have we believed that we have the Russians in our waters.”
“And the United States?” Ryan asked.
“Everybody, and I mean everybody, who owns submarines is fighting in the waters around the U.S., Canada and Europe. We get the odd bulletin every now and again, and it seems that those nations cannot build new submarines fast enough, due to the numbers destroyed. We are lucky that we reside so far away from the rest of the world. If you could negotiate a truce among all nations and get international trade back to what it was in 2015 or 2016, then this whole planet would flourish again, just like spring.”
Ryan thought about Doug’s words and said that once he arrived back into space, he would try and set up some sort of meeting with the Big Bad Three.
“So how can we repay you for future possibilities on our behalf?” Doug asked, sipping a cup of excellent Indonesian coffee.
“Bob Mathews came up with an idea,” Ryan began. “His idea is for Astermine Co. and its crew to have a permanent base down here on Earth for future visits.”
“This base is your base if you want it,” Doug replied.
“Thank you, and I appreciate your offer, but Bob’s idea was an island off your coast. Private, a sanctuary you would protect which hopefully wouldn’t have spies or soldiers walking over it all the time.”
“The Whitsunday Islands are in the middle of our shipping lanes, and I’m sure we could come up with a deserted island for you. How big do you want it to be?”
“About 20 to 50 acres, pretty flat, and I would pay for the island and for you to build a base on it, like you so kindly built here in the middle of the desert for us.”
“Well, there is Border Island, ten acres but hilly. Hogan Island, between us and Tasmania. We have dozens that could suit you. That would have been perfect, but I’ll get my guys out looking. We would not need payment, but will protect your sanctuary in return for you protecting us from space.”
“That I cannot offer you when we leave,” replied Ryan, knowing where the discussion was going. He knew that several countries wanted him, or at least one of his spaceships, to stay orbiting the planet. He explained that it wasn’t possible, and no, he wasn’t going to teach anybody on Earth how to make their own spaceships, or his means of protection, or lasers of mass destruction. He did offer Doug one chance though.
“There could be one system that I might allow you to have, if you signed off that you would never use it for warfare, only for electrical power and defense, Doug,” Ryan suggested. Doug looked at him inquisitively. “Ever wanted a working Cold Fusion plant?”
“We would give you Tasmania for that,” Doug suggested, his face white. If Ryan knew how to work Cold Fusion, something the world hadn’t mastered, then what else did he know?
“It is not a big plant, just enough power to equal powering up a couple of aircraft carriers, but I’m sure your scientists would be able to design future systems from it,” offered Ryan.
“Do you know how it would help us or any country?” Doug asked. Ryan indicated that he didn’t. He wasn’t that expert on world technology anymore. A decade of the space vacuum had dampened his memory.
“For starters—and I’ll be brief, Ryan—first of all, it will eliminate all our city air pollution or smog which causes many health problems in our country. Also, it will greatly reduce the cost of our industrial production, transportation costs, construction costs, mining costs for our minerals, dissolve the need for coal mining, greatly reduce costs on food production, and the cost of food for our people. Even allow water desalination in rural areas. It will make cheap electricity available for everybody, and we won’t need to import oil, and my biggest bitch: end this horrible need for fracking in our country, something we had to turn to once our imports were destroyed. Ryan, it will mean a totally new world and economy for us and New Zealand and our surrounding countries, eliminating the need for the electric power grid, and the blackouts that are getting more and more common. I will give you anything you want for Cold Fusion.”
“A nice private island somewhere with full title deed,” smiled Ryan, now committed, “and your promise that you will leave my new island alone but will protect it from other countries, and that you will never use this technology in starting a war against another country.”
Doug, still white-faced and not believing what had been offered for so cheap, nodded his head in agreement. “I will head back and get you what you want in legal agreements, plus a list of possible islands as soon as I return. I had better be leaving. May I ask, where is this Cold Fusion plant you are offering?”
“About 300 miles above you, and I will get it down when we are ready,” Ryan replied.
“A whole Cold Fusion plant in space?” Doug asked, again shocked. Ryan smiled.
“It is only the size of a small coffin, but far more powerful that an atomic bomb.”
“They say that all good things come in small packages,” said Doug.
For another hour they chatted, until Jonesy’s Gulfstream screamed down the runway, interrupting everybody’s train of thought. Doug couldn’t wait to get back to Canberra. His jet left an hour later once two F-18s headed overhead to escort him back to the country’s capital.
Jonesy had a smile on his face. Life was currently perfect for him. He had his parents in the cabin behind relaxing, his wife sitting in the copilot’s seat, and he was standing behind Saturn, who was actually piloting the Gulfstream.
“Give us a slow turn to the left,” he ordered his daughter. “Excellent. Now a slow turn to the right. Perfect. Climb to 40,000 feet at 500 feet a minute.”
“We had better fly gently, Saturn,” added Maggie. “I think Grandpa is having a cup of coffee in the back.”
Saturn, Mars Noble and Lunar Richmond had already completed 50 hours of spaceflight training in the simulator up in the mother ship during the return journey to Earth, but this was Saturn’s first practical atmospheric flight.
They were over the vast Indian Ocean, had full tanks and all the time in the world. Most new pilots learned on Cessnas, but for Jonesy’s daughter, a Gulfstream was as good, one of the most expensive private jets in the world.
Saturn found the maneuvers pretty easy. After 50 hours of simulator training, learning similar moves, but with thrusters instead of wings and jet engines, flying was much the same.
“Okay, we are stable at 40,000 feet. Now see how much you can throttle back and keep the aircraft flying level,” Jonesy ordered his daughter. Slowly she brought the power of the engines down until they were just managing to stay on level flight. “Now see if you can add just the right amount of throttle to keep her straight and level through a complete S-turn.”
Saturn did so, losing only a hundred feet in two minutes’ worth of turning. Jonesy left Maggie to continue the lesson while heading into the Seychelles, and he returned to his parents in the cabin.
“We keep flying around in turns. We go fast, then we nearly slow enough to fall into a stall. Who the hell is flying this bucket?” Joseph Jones asked, looking over the new fishing rods and reels Doug had given Jonesy on his arrival.
“Saturn on manual flight,” said Jonesy.
“But she is only eleven, dear,” answered his mother.
“Mom, she can fly the shuttle better than this, and by the time we reach Mars, she will be an accomplished astronaut at twelve.
“You Martians certainly start early,” Joseph remarked. “Worse than you creeping aboard military aircraft at the same age.”
“Times have changed, Dad, in Ryan’s world. Saturn started school at three and has worked hard ever since. Instead of normal children playing with doll houses and other pretty games, Saturn, Mars and Lunar were learning math, physics, biology and chemistry. The old school systems we were used to, Dad, were a total waste of children’s childhoods. We have proved that children’s learning capacities are stronger the younger they are. My daughter at 11 has a sophomore university education already, something I wish I had the chance to have had at her age. She will have an equal of a Bachelor’s of Science next year, and a Master’s in the same fields by the time she is fifteen.”
“There was nothing wrong with dolls, toys and fun,” remarked his mother.
“Look where the U.S. educational system got us,” replied Jonesy. “Under-educated kids who considered fun to be the most important part of being a child. There is nothing wrong with fun, but as a hobby or an after-work relaxation, not the most important item drilled into a young brain.”
“I think you might be right,” said his father.
“Why did China become the most powerful nation in the world?” Jonesy asked as the aircraft leaned into a right-hand glide. “Because of the ‘Tiger Moms’ wanting their kids to be the best, and making sure they learned faster than the other children. The Chinese kids were educated younger and faster, and guess what?” His two parents looked at their son. “Education and learning in a fun environment takes the place of fun in a playing and not learning environment. All our space kids enjoyed learning and were taught that it is fun to learn and a mature thing to have responsibility for making sure they themselves were serious in their schooling. All our children are far more responsible than the way we were brought up.”
“A Master’s degree at fifteen. Is that possible?” Jonesy’s mother asked.
“Maggie, come in here. Leave Saturn on manual flight after making sure she is flying on the radio beacon from Victoria,” shouted Jonesy toward the cockpit. A few minutes later Maggie came in and helped herself to a soft drink.
“Dad, you remember the old days of flying?” His father looked at him questioningly. “The days of vectors, flying on radio beacons, and no GPS on autopilot. The best training a pilot can have.” His father nodded.
“Saturn doesn’t have GPS, because there are no satellites. The radio to America One above is off so that the bridge won’t tell her when she deviates off course, and she has manual flight,” added Maggie. “She is flying straight and level following a radio beacon coming from her destination. Her speed is normal cruise at 500 knots and she has to follow her course for the next hour. Now let’s see what this new fishing equipment is all about.”
Saturn handed over control of the Gulfstream 550 to Maggie three hours later 200 yards from the edge of the runway. She had flown well and explained to her grandparents that they were totally safe with her flying the aircraft. She had called the lesson “fun.”
That wasn’t what the Seychelles air traffic controller had felt when he asked the extremely young female pilot her age. When she had told him, he went off the air for several minutes, then came back on with his supervisor asking if the flight was an emergency.
Jonesy explained to an irate official at Victoria’s International airport, which had seen fewer than 20 international incoming flights in the last year, that Saturn Jones was far more experienced in flying spaceships than aircraft. Handing over a stack of the U.S. dollars he always had stashed away inside the aircraft’s secret compartment, he asked him to fill up the Gulfstream. Credit cards didn’t work in many parts of the world anymore, and only cash or gold seemed to be useful currencies. Jonesy had both.
Unfortunately, he was given bad news. The airport hadn’t received any new supplies of fuel for two years now, and refueling Jonesy’s aircraft would take about half of the jet fuel they had left. There was no tourism on the islands anymore, and only the one hotel was still open, luckily the one Jonesy and VIN had always stayed at. The other news was that some of the islands were now uninhabitable due to the lack of fuel for aircraft or shipping, and nearly all the inhabitants on the outer islands had left more than a year ago.
A day later, the Jones family were enjoying life, and were about to wrap up their first day of fishing. The boat was heading into the port area when they saw the glint of an aircraft approaching the airport from the south. They were cleaning a few small Dorado when Ryan’s voice came over Jonesy’s handheld radio. “We are on finals for Victoria. Kathy, me, Lunar and Mars aboard. Which hotel are you guys staying at?”
“What are you guys flying, the Dead Chicken?” Jonesy asked smiling, but his smile quickly left his face when Ryan told him.
“No, a 2016 Gulfstream 750, on loan from the Australian government,” smiled Ryan, knowing that his Chief Astronaut was not happy with that piece of news. “Kathy, you take her in.”
“You can certainly screw up a day’s fishing, boss. I didn’t know they made a 750?” Jonesy replied. “They were bringing out the 650s when we left. What are the modifications?”
“A slightly higher cruise speed, Mach 0.995, 5,000 feet higher cruise altitude and room for six passengers, not eight. It is only one foot shorter than yours, but has an 8,000 mile range,” replied Ryan. “The reason I was offered it, is that the Australian government doesn’t know if there is any jet fuel out here in the middle of the Indian Ocean. This baby can do the round trip without refueling.”
“There isn’t much, and what they have will give me one more flight out here,” Jonesy replied.
Jonesy just had to head back to the airport in an old banged up and completely rusty Nissan rental to see the newest Gulfstream. Fuel prices were crazy, most shops seemed empty of luxuries, and the ten miles to the airport wasn’t too far.
“She is certainly a beauty,” sighed Jonesy as he, Maggie and Saturn scanned the cockpit. The two aircraft looked identical, although different colors, and the newer version had the official name of “Government of Australia” on both sides of the fuselage. “Well, since our old yellow runabout has only 700 flight hours on her, she can last us a few more years.”
“It seems that we need to find a fishing spot closer to our base of operations,” replied Ryan. “I’m sure that Doug will come up with a new island for us before you return in a couple of years’ time.”
“I hope so. This place has gone to the dogs since VIN and I were here last,” Jonesy continued. “I believe that we will stay here for a few days then head back. I promised VIN that I would have some fish fillets from here when I got back up.
They stayed all week. There was very little going on back at the base, and Allen Saunders was only due back in a week with one of the Cold Fusion systems, and it seemed that life was waiting for the fish to bite.
Bite is what the fish did. There were only three remaining commercial fishing boats left on the main island of Mahé. There had been more, but with the decreasing allocations of fuel and the dwindling of tourism, many had left for southern Africa. The prices weren’t cheap. Ten times more expensive than a decade earlier and the boats rundown and their owners old, but the fish hit on anything pulled behind the boat.
Once they returned with the day’s catch, there were dozens of locals who offered to gut and pack the fish for next to nothing. They all enjoyed themselves, the space children realizing how pretty and vast the Earth and its people were.
Mars Noble caught the largest fish, a 65-pound Dorado which took an hour to bring in. In all, they had 1,000 pounds of packed fillets, and they said goodbye to the beautiful island after seven days of fishing with both aircraft heavy with iced boxes of fish.
“I heard you received a letter from the President?” Jonesy asked Ryan over a couple of cold cokes in the new Gulfstream on the way back to Australia. Maggie and Saturn were flying their ride back, with Mars and Lunar taking turns at flight lessons. Jonesy and his parents were in Kathy and Ryan’s fancy aircraft, the ride smoother than the “student” vehicle.
Kathy, one of the best pilots, put their aircraft on autopilot. She was amused as her daughter turned Jonesy’s jet first left and then right, and up and down as her instructor saw fit, a mile in front and a couple of thousand feet below.
“Oh yes, I nearly forgot about that,” replied Ryan. “The President wanted to talk to his daughter, but she refused to speak to him from the bridge. I will get her to speak with him when I get back up there on our next launch. Are you done with fishing, Mr. Jones?”
“Tired. My arms still hurt and we have enough fish for at least our trip back to Mars,” Jonesy replied.
“Oh! You Jones family still coming with us? I was starting to wonder,” smiled Ryan.
“I think the shock of that beautiful island going downhill, just like in the States, is not what I wanted to see,” remarked Jonesy simply. “This planet is a mess, getting worse, and there are about a hundred of us who have an alternate. This Earth is not the Earth I remember. I think vast changes are going to take place over the next decade or so. What excites me is that we could be able to come and visit every two years or so and see if it’s still here. One day these bigger, more powerful countries might just blow each other and the whole planet to kingdom come, just like they tried to get rid of us. Now you are giving the Aussies Cold Fusion, you are going to change the balance of power on this planet, and you could be the reason for World War Four.”
“Yes, I agree entirely with you,” replied Ryan, “but I still feel that something has to alter the power struggle and constant fighting on this planet. If I didn’t give them the power, then I think you are right in thinking that our civilization will over time go completely downhill, back to the before the Industrial Age. Hell, with a nuclear war, back to the Stone Age, and there would be no life left on this planet. One day we could go back to wearing spacesuits and living underground in our old home, as we will on Mars. I discussed the pros and cons with Igor and Boris up on the bridge for several hours, and we all came to the same conclusion: that if new countries became powerful, decent countries like Australia, Canada, maybe the whole of Europe or even little Israel, then something would change. I don’t see those countries acting like China or Russia, or our old country. I see a new surprise, of even government, smaller countries taking the lead and keeping the big dogs muzzled. That was the only reason we three agreed on the Cold Fusion delivery, and the reason we will give the change of world power and dominance to a smaller country. Jonesy, just don’t tell Doug that he only has a year left in power, and like the U.S., you never know who will come to power after him.”
Ten tons of the richest topsoil plus enough liquid hydrogen to get it into space was waiting for them at the base when they landed. The topsoil and the fish were all that was needed to leave the planet, apart for returning the crewmembers to space.
It took two weeks. Each shuttle came in for a few days. The Pitts were taken off the roster to enjoy ten days of vacation, so were Captain Pete and Dr. Nancy to have a honeymoon. Ryan flew them all into Sydney to spend a week with Kathy and Lunar, shopping and seeing the sights.
The Matt craft weren’t allowed to enter, so Commander Joot and Elder Roo got on with educating the new crewmembers in Matt. For the President’s daughter, she was in heaven, learning an alien language and inspecting every inch of America One.
Chapter 15
Goodbye Earth
“Good morning, Mr. President. As promised, I have your daughter with me up here in orbit,” said Ryan from the ship’s cafeteria.
The President was sitting in the Oval Office with a radio on the desk in front of him. The room was empty of staff, as he had wanted to talk to his daughter alone.
“Joanne, Joanne, are you there?” asked her father.
“Yes, I am here talking to you, not that I wanted to be,” Joanne Dithers replied.
“Were you kidnapped? Are you okay? Mother and I are worried sick about you.”
“No, I wasn’t kidnapped, and Mother isn’t worried about me. She knows where I am and is happy I have escaped your lousy leadership. Maybe you should stop being nasty to her every time you are with her. You are a monster. To answer your questions, then I am out of your life forever, I went to Ryan’s base in Nevada wanting to join his expedition. He kindly let me join, not knowing who I was. It was my education and experience that got me in, not your position. I am extremely happy and, Dad, I didn’t really want to talk to you. Ryan made me, for reasons of politics. You are a bully. You hurt Mom all these years, you have hurt our country and you have hurt the poor average American with your greed and overreach. I’m happy not to be part of your world anymore.”
“But, Joanne, politics is politics.”
“Yes, a dirty word in our family, Mr. President. We haven’t had fair and just politics in the USA for decades now, not since I was born, and look at the state of the country, look at the state of the world you have helped form. It’s a mess. The poor have got so poor that now they are no more than slaves, exactly like the poor slaves America had centuries ago. The rich are so rich, like you, that you wouldn’t see the real world even if it struck you in the face. You need to do one favor for me. Allow my new friend Mr. Brusk to have his container ships. Dad, I’m glad to be up here, and hopefully if I ever have the opportunity to return one day, I hope you are long dead and buried, and that there is a new, better America. Then maybe the elite up here might return to Earth. Until then, kiss my butt!” And she strode out of the cafeteria with her father shouting after her.
Ryan didn’t know what to do, and the transmission was already ended as the furious President of the United States pushed the heavy radio off the desk, and it cracked open as it hit the floor hard.
For the next two days, Ryan tried to get a conversation running with the Chinese and the Russians. They were as interested in talking to him as Joanne was talking in to her father, so he apologized to the Israeli and Australian Prime Ministers and ordered Captain Pete to begin their journey to Mars.
They had enjoyed life for the three more weeks in the Gibson Desert. Jonesy and VIN, once Captain Pete had returned, headed out to the Barrier Reef and taught the kids how to scuba dive for the last week. Mars Noble said that it was just like spacewalking, except without the suit. They saw many fish and enjoyed the coral banks. Australia was certainly a beautiful place. The kangaroos abounded when they flew low to see the terrain. Rabbits, one of the two meats grown aboard America One, were everywhere, and there were several interesting desert creatures in the middle of nowhere, like scorpions and snakes. This was certainly not Mars.
As time passed, the astronauts lifted up the topsoil and fish in shifts, in between fishing days in and around the country. Suzi enjoyed the travelling with her family. She had always wanted to visit the land down under, and for a biologist, it was a fascinating experience.
A day before departure, Ryan organized the last supper with friends. Ryan had invited the Prime Minster of Israel for the dinner. The man had happily come, thanking Ryan for staying so long so that he and the other countries could complete so much trading in the time given. Everybody who was a friend in the area was there.
It was Bob Mathews and his girls’ final night with their friends. Doug, the Australian Prime Minister, and a few of his friends were naturally invited, and Ryan was rather impressed to be sitting down in-between two Prime Ministers for dinner.
His Nevada crew had done a great job looking after the crew on the base, and were off on a few days’ vacation thanks to the Australian government. They were leaving in the morning with Bob and his crew.
In the dining room were two of the four titanium cases that had returned from space. Ryan had decided to give two of them away for research. They had the other one, and with the unit on Mars, had more than enough power. The third Cold Fusion unit was to replace the Plutonium-238 reactor underneath the mother ship, or the power system if SB-III returned in two years’ time. Everyone was sure that a lot of power would be needed to fight off the cubes or any new weapons systems on their next visit.
Both Prime Ministers signed a document not to use the technology for war, and both men were glad to have something new to continue developing their countries. Nobody apart from the Mathews crew would know that the two countries now had Cold Fusion, or at least one unit to break down and reverse-engineer.
The Gibson Desert base’s upkeep was paid for the next decade with some of the remaining gold. Ryan hadn’t used half of the ingots he had thought he might need. The Israeli Air Force jet, which had flown in the Prime Minister, was filled with gifts from that country, including a date palm and several other interesting trees and plants for Suzi, and it would head back far heavier than expected.
The dinner was a success and the base quiet the next day as the gifts from both countries, amounting to two shuttle loads, were flown into space extending Ryan’s departure schedule.
Finally, it was time to go, and SB-III left Earth for the last time until that possible visit back to Earth. All the remains of the gold, as well as all the rare earth metals not needed in America One, were stored in the secure hangars.
Many were sad to see the atmosphere of Earth close behind the spacecraft. Ryan, Jonesy with Maggie as his copilot, and VIN in the second cockpit jump seat didn’t say anything as the shuttle, fully loaded with crew in the forward compartment and a ton of hydrogen gas in the rear compartment, headed upward and into the darkness of space.
“Why won’t these governments speak to me?” Ryan asked Captain Pete in the bridge the next morning over coffee. The frozen baklava was still a treat for the crew, and Ryan had told Suzi to bring 200 pounds of it for the members on Mars. He knew that Martha Von Zimmer especially had a sweet tooth for the luxury.
The crew had hundreds of different items for the crewmembers back on Mars. All the shopping lists had been completed by Doug and his team in his country, and there was a ton of supplies from vodka to schnapps, Gummy Bears to Almond Joys and from Toblerone to Hershey’s for the crew millions of miles out in space.
“I assume you have pissed off the leaders and disrespected their testosterone with the destruction of their bases,” smiled Captain Pete. “I don’t think they want to learn new tricks down there, and the best thing is to just wait and hope our new generations find a better world one day.”
“I assume getting an old dog like Mr. Jones off alcohol would be an easier bet,” mused Ryan.
“Well, he actually got sick of fishing,” returned Captain Pete as VIN entered the bridge with Commander Joot.
“Get my partner off the hard stuff? Never!” replied VIN. “You might have had more chance with his old idol Frank Sinatra.” Both Ryan and Captain Pete knew that saving the world had never been in the schedule. According to some, the downhill spiral of Earth had started with the Rat Pack, Hollywood and cigarettes years earlier.
“Climbing through 450 miles altitude with three full orbits to go,” said Captain Pete as Jonesy and the rest of the astronauts entered for the morning briefing. They were quite surprised to see Suzi enter. As usual, she was floating without her legs and had Joanne Dithers and Saturn Jones on each hand. Mars Noble, Lunar Richmond, Penelope Pitt, who had spent dozens of hours with her parents in SB-I, and Pluto Jane Saunders, who had done the same with her parents in SB-II, were behind them. The crew grabbed coffee and delights and waited. This was going to be a different briefing, as the older children weren’t often allowed on the bridge, and certainly not Joanne Dithers.
Ryan looked at his crew. The ones who had been on Earth the most were beach brown, had fantastic tans, were fit, thin and looked as healthy as any group of Homo sapiens and Homo floresiensis could, and the bridge was crammed full.
“Let us all head up to the cafeteria. Now that we are on our way, there is no going back, but first I wanted to show Ms. Dithers the bridge. We are going to need the extra room of the cafeteria for this meeting,” Ryan ordered.
As usual, there was fresh coffee and snacks waiting for everyone up in the cafeteria. The tons of supplies, all the food anybody in space ever wanted, would last for the whole return flight to Mars, as well as for at least a year once they arrived. The whole crew were already looking forward to a regular supply of goodies from Earth every few years.
“Today we begin our first phase of our NextGen program,” began Ryan, once everybody was seated. “Kathy has spoken in length with the youngsters here today, including the new kids and Ms. Dithers. I would like each of the NextGens, apart from Ms. Dithers, to stand up and give their reasons for wanting to be trained in the professions they have selected. I will ask you in order of age, the eldest first. Saturn Jones, please stand up and tell us your new career position aboard America One.”
Saturn proudly stood up. “I only have one calling for my new profession, and my parents have been training me for three years now. I believe I am capable of copiloting SB-III. I have spent over 180 hours controlling the shuttle in space flight, 610 hours on simulator and completed 40 hours of atmospheric flight on Earth in a Gulfstream 550. Now that we have the atmospheric flight simulator from Nevada aboard ship, I will begin hours on it. My career path is to take over from my dad as Chief Astronaut one day.”
“Thank you, Saturn Jones. Your career path has been accepted. I’m sure you are in the capable hands of both your parents. Mars Noble, please,” offered Ryan.
“I have two career paths I would like to follow and both can be combined into one if need be. My father is Head of Security and I have followed and learned from him since I was five. I have also worked with Captain Pete, spending hundreds of hours on the bridge, thanks to Mr. Richmond, and can copilot America One in long-distance space flight. My completed studies are Course One astrophysics, space directional flight, computer hardware and tuning, astronomy, ion propulsion, hydrogen propulsion, and I will be continuing my education on the return flight with Courses Two and Three astrophysics. I consider my father’s position to be extremely honorable, but I believe I would be a better ship’s captain than Head of Security.” Both Ryan and VIN smiled. VIN knew which career he would prefer Mars to follow.
“Mr. Noble, do you have any objection to young Mars becoming Captain Pete’s protégé?”
“No, of course not. I actually have a different person interested in security,” VIN replied, smiling proudly at his son.
“Mars Noble, like Saturn Jones, you are given full bridge privileges, and you will report to Captain Pete daily for continuing education. I would also like you to spend time with your father in laser operations. He has a different way of controlling the laser aboard ship than Captain Pete, and both men can teach you something. Lunar Richmond, please.” Ryan already knew what she was going to say, but it needed to be made official with the crew.
“After lengthy discussions with both my parents, I would like to direct my career to be a protégé of Igor’s.” The crew was silent, as there had been much speculation that Lunar was going to want Mars’s future career. A sigh of relief went through many. “I believe that Igor has the most important position aboard ship. He liaises between ground and space control. He has control on the bridge when Captain Pete or VIN are off duty. He controls Ground Control when on Earth or Mars. He has the answer to everybody’s questions. My mentor Igor has already instructed me in physics, chemistry, astronomy, space directional flight, spaceship control, computer tuning, and hydrogen propulsion for seven years now, often down in the chemistry lab. I believe between my school work and my extra studies with Igor, many of you have thought I was a ghost aboard ship. My younger sister Pluto Katherine is following in my footsteps and has been part of our meetings for three years now.”
For many this was news. Apart for Ryan being in control of everything aboard ship, only Igor seemed to be everywhere and yet not in command of any one department.
“So you are to be our new Astermine Chief Information and Liaison Officer. Crew, many of you know Igor as Igor. Igor has been my right-hand man since I was in my twenties. Very few decisions have been made without Igor. He has run all our ground bases, and kept them liaised with space operations. He has always been my chief information and liaison officer and I’m happy to have my daughter Lunar be his protégé. Penelope Pitt, please.”
“Like my best friend Saturn, I have extensive hours flying SB-I. Since we arrived back in orbit around Earth, I have completed 120 hours of orbital flight in SB-I. On our flight here, I fought with Saturn to get time in the simulator. To date, I have 560 hours of simulator time. I have spent 15 hours with Mr. Noble on the bridge working on the directional computers for laser firing. I believe I can hit any target on Earth from 5,000 miles, and now would like to spend time in the atmospheric flight simulator. Unfortunately, my second career aboard America One will be shuttle or mining ship astronaut, but I would like to be future Head of Security. I have achieved a black belt in three martial arts, spent hundreds of hours with Mars and Mr. Noble walking the ship, and studied shuttle flight ion propulsion, hydrogen propulsion, and laser defense and attack modes. I have studied the shields around us with Commander Joot and Igor, and even taught Elder Roo the art of Judo.”
Ryan smiled. For a girl who didn’t hug the limelight, Penelope Pitt was certainly a firecracker. “I believe you deserve the career path you have laid out for yourself, Ms. Pitt. I know that your mother Maggie and my wife have taken an interest in your advancement and are proud to learn that you have used nearly every person currently aboard this ship to siphon information. I know Mr. Noble will be proud to hand you his position one day. Pluto Jane Saunders, please.”
“I know I don’t talk much, but my career path is Shuttle Astronaut and Astrobiologist. As with my two friends, Saturn and Penelope, I have had extensive education from my parents aboard SB-II. I have 209 hours of shuttle flight time, 510 hours of simulator time, and unknown to many, have completed several launches and reentries on Earth these last two months. Since my parents flew more missions down to Earth than the other shuttles, I had the opportunity of more practical experience. I will be happy to command SB-II and the mining craft one day. But I would also like to continue my studies and work with Suzi in astrobiology, and I believe both careers can be completed hand in hand.”
Jonesy, Maggie and the Pitts were quite surprised that Allen and Jamie had allowed their daughter to do complete flights, and looked at Ryan.
This seemed news to Ryan, who looked at Allen for an answer.
Allen smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “Sometimes you have just got to allow the best pilot to fly. Pluto Jane is the best, completely natural pilot in our family.”
Jamie nodded her agreement to that.
What could Ryan say?
“Well, it seems that Ms. Saunders here is already completing flights. I believe her career is Shuttle Astronaut, and we need all the biologists we can get. Saturn Jones, it looks like you might have some competition for Chief Astronaut?”
Saturn looked at Pluto Jane and smiled the Jonesy smile. “Not on my watch, sweetheart,” she said, smiling at her friend. There was much laughter in the crew. Saturn was about as sweet as her father, a rattlesnake with a bad hangover.
“Ms. Dithers, you are 25 years old, older than these NextGens, and you are now part of our crew. What career path would you like to follow? And, ladies and gentleman, our friend Hans is still single if you know of any of the multitude of girls aboard or on Mars who wants a husband. It seems Joanne and Hans are not meant to be.” Again there was much laughter. Everyone knew that poor Hans wasn’t up to the match of Ms. Dithers. He had tried hard, a real gentleman, but it seemed that Joanne Dithers did not like men in general. Nobody knew if that was just because of her father or whether that was a fact, but it was left there for now.
“I have spoken extensively to Dr. Nancy. I have also spoken often with Vitaliy, Head of Engine Technology. It surprises me that these children, Saturn, Mars, Lunar and the two girls I haven’t met, often are so forward in their educations. I believe that they are so educated in areas I never had the chance to study on Earth. Two of my loves are astrophysics and propulsion, but many of you don’t know that I began my university career wanting to do medicine. If I am allowed two channels of study, I would like to study under Dr. Nancy Martin and Dr. Martin Rogers, who I haven’t met yet, in the fields of astrogenetics. I would also enjoy to continue in my main field of astrophysics. I had a long conversation with Chief Astronaut Jones yesterday, and he described how he can actually feel if an engine is working well. I believe I can learn that trait in both propulsion and human behavior. I know that sounds weird, but I believe new directions of learning out here in space will come to us continuously in our futures. My field will be a new field, and I look forward to working with Commander Joot, Elder Roo, and your brains back on Mars, especially one of my university mentors, Dr. Petra Bloom.” She sat down.
“Well, that seems food for thought,” responded Ryan, thinking about what the girl had tried to say. He couldn’t see a connection between thinking and engines, but he did agree that out-of-the-box thinking was mandatory aboard ship. “Mental impulses to control thrusters; I believe I got what you said. Ms. Dithers, you are lucky that we have so much time up here. I will keep tabs on your advancement. Kathy, we have several of the NextGen who are not with us in this meeting. Can you let us know what the new children are interested in?”
“Yes, I have had meetings with all the new children aboard, and I began my meetings with our original children before we left Mars. We all know that young Jacob Rogers will study medicine under his parents. Most of our NextGens will study under their parents. Many of the new children are wanting to study with Suzi. Suzi and I were worried for a while about not having enough astrobiology students, but it seems that the majority of our new children, ten of them including Paul Walls, the new doctor’s son, want to work with Suzi and Mr. Rose. Most of the NextGens back on Mars are studying astrobiology as part of their curriculum, but a few budding experts like Suzi and Mr. Rose are certainly needed. As far as the second-born children are concerned, I will be having their first meetings on the way home. It seems both future Chief Astronaut Saturn Jones and Future Captain Mars Noble have competition from their peers and the younger ranks. There are several others interested in the same two positions, or even deputy positions.”
“Thank you, Kathy,” responded Ryan to his wife. He had the best person possible looking after the NextGens. “So it seems my position and that of Mr. Jones, Mr. Noble, Captain Pete and Igor are all accounted for. It sounds like several will be putting Suzi and Mr. Rose out of a job. I think that the two-year bus route might come in handy, getting us old folks off the ship and into retirement homes back on Earth. I’m just glad we didn’t start our children’s educations while in the womb, but maybe Ms. Dithers and Dr. Nancy might have something to say about that one day. Igor, Vitaliy and his crew, and I have a project we want to complete before we reach Mars. We are going to design and manufacture the first robot here in space.”
The cafeteria was filled with noise at that remark.
“Why do we need robots?” asked Jonesy. “They can’t fly shuttles.”
“Or design new crops,” added Suzi.
“A great idea for defense: unmanned soldiers,” said VIN, rubbing his hands together.
“They don’t need to wear spacesuits is the main reason,” added Ryan, and that shut the rabble up. “And I believe we need to bring our defenses up to date. I have been thinking about the race who gave the Matts these blue shields, and their new technologies all those years ago. I believe that we have something to fear from a return on Mars. Hopefully that hasn’t happened already. Now, as Commander Joot described this tribe, or race of people, it seems they eat people and drink more than Mr. Jones here.”
There was some laughter and a few quipped, “Not possible.”
“They had the same technologies we currently have, thousands of years ago, the commander believes they live somewhere on Mars, and since it is quite a large planet, hopefully it will take them time to find us. What they didn’t have was our laser weapons, or if they did, Commander Joot never mentioned them, but I do not want these people eating my children, or yours.” There were shouts of “hear, hear” from the group.
“The main reason for the design and manufacture of a platoon or two of robots is to defend us in times of need. We have the most modern 3-D scanners, printers, computerized design and production computers, nickel, titanium, cobalt, copper, and I believe all we need to manufacture a defense robot, who will be armed and defend us in times of attack.
“Will they do all our work for us in the fields, and clean our apartments?” asked Suzi, slightly worried.
“No, we need to complete our own chores aboard this ship and in our bases on Mars. I still have nightmares about that old movie I watch every few years: ‘Wall-E,’ remember it?”
The crew nodded.
“I do not want our race to become a bunch of space misfits that do nothing all day but lie around and complain. A healthy body is a good body and a healthy body feeds a healthy brain, so we will continue to be a fit and healthy race of people on Mars.
“Today’s meeting was to begin the NextGens’ involvement in their new careers. We have planet Earth getting smaller again. We have learned much from our visit, but my next project is to hand over the control of our inventions and journeys to our next of kin. We won’t have any communication with Earth in about two weeks’ time, we have said goodbye to our friends down there and we have separated ourselves from their advancements. Whatever happens down there, we will find out on our next visit. Captain Pete told me earlier that if we want to return in two years’ time, today is the day to leave to catch the next opposition. I believe that two years is a little short, and that we should return with a delegation of people in 4, maybe 6 years’ time. This will give them time to change something down there, and we Martians time to set up our defenses on our home to repel any invaders from Earth, or Mars itself.”
Chapter 16
Slight Change in Plans
It was twelve days later when Ryan got into radio communication with Doug down in Australia. Much had gone on since then. The newbies had daily lessons on spaceship living. To many, especially Mr. and Mrs. Jones who were far older than the others, it took a lot of time to get used to many ideas. Ideas that you couldn’t go outside, or sit in the sun, or head out shopping. There was a set time for everybody to eat, sleep and work. Gardening, or as Suzi said, vegetation growth and conservation, was a daily chore for over half of the crew. Even though three of the seven cubes were empty and had been since Mars, the four cubes which had new vegetation, many new types and many of the same old, same old greens, needed daily nurturing by dozens of hands.
The elevators were a difficult art at first. So was living and sleeping in such light “gravity conditions” from the electromagnets, and the continuous slow spinning of the space ship. The pool was used by everyone, and Jonesy and VIN were already deliberating how to manufacture a larger swimming pool, and which part of the spaceship to use for underneath the see-through silicone panels outside the main cavern on Mars.
The weaponless freighters had been recovered by the three shuttles, as America One had begun her larger orbits. It had taken twenty-four hours, and by the time the mother ship reached a 600 mile altitude, everything was fixed tightly to her outer connections.
Ryan was sure the world had watched them as they had prepared to leave, many with mixed emotions. The bridge could watch several of the international television channels while they were in Low Earth Orbit thanks to their systems picking up the communications through the ground towers.
Several of the news channels showed government reactions to Ryan’s leaving. The Chinese and Russians held parades and celebrations, showing off their new missiles and space cubes, hundreds of them atop vehicles ready to be launched into space. The U.S. channels had hundreds of experts deliberating whether this was a good move on Ryan’s part or not. The British reckoned that world trade would come to a standstill again across the planet. The French were describing their new attack submarines, and stealth craft that could fly inside Earth’s atmosphere and destroy attacks by any enemy. The Germans were designing a new laser, and only the southern hemisphere channels were quiet, as they knew that trouble was about to start, and all large shipping worldwide was scurrying back to their ports to be mothballed again.
Ryan had decided to say goodbye only once they got close to being cut off from all communications.
“Good to hear your voice,” said Doug. The reception was extremely scratchy at 500,000 miles without the satellites that in the past had orbited Earth transmitting the messages, and the voice sounded more like a computerized version of Doug’s voice. “Well, it already started: attacks by cubes I mean,” he continued. “You have been gone 17 days and today we lost our first ship to a cube attack. Our friends in the Middle East say that they have lost two ships, both by Chinese cube attacks. It seems the Chinese got theirs up first, and the night skies are filled with tiny explosions as these cubes now annihilate each other up there as they did before you arrived.”
“More than before we arrived?” Ryan asked.
“Far more,” replied the voice from Earth. “It seems the Big Bad Three must have gone onto full production to replace the ones your crew shot down. Our economists here in Australia believe that these countries could bankrupt themselves trying to outdo each other.”
“I thought they were already bankrupt,” Ryan replied.
“Bankrupt themselves in their commodities supplies. They must be using up their precious and rare earth metals like never before. We all know China had an abundance of the metals needed for these cubes. We know that all three countries are producing Plutonium-238 as fast as possible, but we believe that given another decade, these supplies should be down at rock-bottom levels, and Australasia is going into a state, underneath our protected domes, of invention and learning until they empty their arsenals of supplies. Our friends in the Middle East sent us new Iron Domes aboard the last three container ships to completely umbrella our whole continent. Thank you for the gold to pay for our protection. Our country’s complete Iron Dome system will be operational within the year, and New Zealand will have the same.
“Martin Brusk received two of three ships from California only hours ago. Ryan, it seems that your message to the U.S. President worked, but a Russian cube took out Martin’s third vessel 500 miles from its destination in the Med. It had broken down with engine failure and a few tugs were working it across that sea. He says that he has enough equipment in the first two vessels to continue, but the company lost over 100 of its best production team aboard the ship. Ryan, we are going to wait this war out. By then we hope to have our new power systems up and working around the country. Have you a date for your next visit?”
“You say that the destruction of these cubes could hurt their own long-term production?” Ryan asked.
“We reckon in a decade or so,” was the scratchy reply. “They can’t go on producing them forever.”
“That gives me an idea,” replied Ryan. “Doug, I’ll get back to you on a new set of scrambled frequencies in three hours. Out.”
“You want to return?” Captain Pete asked, Mars Noble standing next to him.
“Negative, but we are pulling back those useless freighters for no reason, Pete. They worked well with the shields. Ask Igor, Mr. Jones, Mr. Saunders, Mr. Pitt and Mr. Noble to head up here.” Captain Pete got on the intercom and twenty minutes later the five men and their protégés entered the bridge.
Ryan had been deep in thought and worked on numbers on one of the computer terminals. He smiled and set up a task for young Mars Noble. Doug had given him a reason to make a slight change of departure plans.
“Captain Pete, say the three shuttles head back to Earth in 24 hours’ time to a higher orbit than before for protection, say, 1,500 miles above the planet. How long would it take them to get there and return to us?”
Captain Pete spent a few minutes in his Captain’s seat and on the computer. Mars Noble, his shadow, watched everything he did, and then with his own brain wanting to crunch numbers, he headed to a third computer. The older men watched. Ryan, or Captain Pete, had set the same type of test for each of them before and knew what was going on.
“With full fuel, and using up 45 percent of it to reach orbit ASAP— seven days. Say they spend 24 hours in orbit, and using 75 percent thrust to begin a curved line to where they could catch up, it will take the shuttles 13 days with ten percent reserves remaining to catch up. A 21-day mission. Of course they could cut off thrusters a day or so early once they are on a corrected route to conserve fuel, but that would lengthen the contact time by 24 hours for every hour of fuel they save.”
“How are our fuel reserves aboard America One?” Ryan asked.
“We have been at full production since we arrived in orbit over three months ago. We have enough for the mother ship to complete a mid-speed return to Mars by firing up the ion thrusters for 90 percent of the flight in approximately 48 hours’ time. We will use up all the extra liquid hydrogen we hauled up from Australia for this three shuttle mission. We don’t have a problem, and we are still on a reasonable production status of 50 gallons of liquid hydrogen per day.”
“If we went onto ion thrusters 24 hours early, what would we save?” Ryan asked.
“Two hundred and fifty gallons, but our curvature to Mars would need to be extended two weeks longer,” replied Captain Pete, working hard on his keyboard. “The shuttles will save about ten hours of flight catching up.”
“Igor, gentlemen, here is my idea,” continued Ryan, now facing his crew sitting at the bridge’s meeting table. “Our new NextGen shuttle pilots need some practical training. I want all three shuttles to connect up to a freighter. The freighter shields have been returned to storage, so I’ll get Vitaliy to spacewalk out and reconnect them with their on/off radio transmitters and 238 batteries. The shuttles will return to an orbit around Earth and set up the freighters to go through the wrath of destroying all the new cubes up there. Gentlemen, you and your wives are copilots on this trip, and you will be side-gunners for your commanders. I want the NextGens to be in command from outset to return. Your jobs will be to blast anything that could be a danger to you and your families. At 1,500 miles, any nukes will not be accurate, and the computers show a one in 50 chance of the freighters getting hit by a nuke launched from Earth.” The bridge was quiet for several seconds as Ryan and the others waited.
“May I suggest a 3,000-mile orbit, sir,” interjected Mars Noble. He had moved to the laser control computer to work out calculations himself.
Captain Pete and Ryan smiled, now knowing that the kid had the initiative.
VIN looked on proudly as his son gave them a better report. “At that altitude, ground units could still track the freighters, and the cubes will need at least three orbits on full power to reach that altitude. The reason I say 3,000 miles is that the chance of a missile strike is one in 10,000. I don’t think many Earth countries have 10,000 nukes, sir.”
“A good assumption, Training Captain Noble,” replied Ryan. “Could there be any other reasons why 3,000 miles would be a better bet? And what about a 5,000-mile altitude, or a geostationary 22,490-mile altitude?” Young Mars made his keyboard hot while the older group refreshed their coffee cups. Ryan was asking a lot from the young man, and they certainly didn’t know the answers without working them out. Even Igor and Pluto Jane Saunders were on the fourth computer checking Mars Noble’s numbers for accuracy.
“At 5,000 miles, the cubes could be controlled not to climb out of Low Earth Orbit. At geostationary, the planet wouldn’t know if the freighters were up there, and the cubes again remain at LEO. I assume, sir, that you want to get these cubes to attack our freighters for a longer period than the cubes currently up there. Any lower than 2,500 miles, and the nukes could destroy our freighters or send them crashing into the atmosphere. I would also recommend a self-destruction device of sorts on the shield black boxes themselves.”
“What about orbital decay, Mr. Noble?” Captain Pete asked.
Mars, knowing suddenly that he had forgotten an important part, heated up his keyboard again. “Not a problem for two years at altitude above 1,000 miles,” he replied.
“So, let us say we don’t head back to Earth for a decade. What about a decade of orbital decay, Mr. Noble?” Ryan asked. Mars was getting a good training that day.
“Dangerous at 1,500 miles, a loss of 550 miles, and no problem at my suggested altitude, sir. Even after ten years, the freighters will be okay.”
“Well done, young man,” replied Ryan. “At your altitude, it will take NASA at least a couple of years to get a manned space flight up to the freighters at 3,000 miles. With a loss of 550 miles over ten years, I think we should add 50 miles to the orbit altitude, as a 2,500-mile orbit is a far higher danger zone. There is still one problem we face with the shuttles. Anybody want to guess?” The Pitts immediately put up their hands.
“Yes,” stated Penny. “The poor flight crew aboard SB-I have never had the benefit of a crew compartment. Mr. Jones, you live in luxury; so do you, Mr. Saunders; but we the Pitts have only had our cockpit for the hours we have spent protecting you guys while you were down on Earth.”
“They certainly need the added room,” remarked Jonesy, the tallest on the bridge. “I don’t think I could survive another asteroid mining expedition in Astermine One or Two. Even with the added compartment, it’s like living in a train’s sleeping compartment.”
“I’m thinking back to having to live with my partner in the mining ship’s forward cockpit only, on our first voyage to DX2014. Now that was hardship, especially for me,” added VIN, smiling at Jonesy.
“Yes, it was a tight fit, and I’m glad we have continuously worked on better quarters for long-term travel,” smiled Ryan. “The good news is that SB-I’s forward crew compartment, or at least its exterior, is complete and can be attached to the rear cockpit door. Unfortunately, the interior is not ready, but we can get some vertical beds, a bath bag system, a bike exerciser, and some luxury supplies in there for you Mr. and Mrs. Pitt. What do you think?”
“Anything is better than just our cockpit,” replied Michael Pitt.
“A bath bag, even though they are horrible, is certainly better than not having one,” added Penelope Pitt. “It has been hell in there for the hours we spent orbiting when you guys were enjoying yourself drinking and fishing. And there were three of us in that tiny cockpit. I don’t know how my mother put up with both of us, and as far as I’m concerned, you can only love your parents so long.”
“Now that I agree with,” remarked Saturn Jones, straight-faced. “Mr. Richmond, can I have a door lock put on the SB-III’s rear cockpit door? Then I can lock my father in there when he gets ratty.”
Everyone smiled and looked at her father. Jonesy said little, but asked for an extra case of beer in the supplies for his expected incarceration.
There was much laughter as the youngsters became part of the planning, and the final touches were put to the return to orbit before Ryan called Doug back at the allotted time.
“I’m sure you are having fun working up a scheme up there,” said Doug as the communications were again activated toward Earth.
“Yes, good news for you,” replied Ryan. “I suggest you keep this secret, at least until we return on our first visit. It might or might not work for an extended period, and you can tell if it is still working by using telescopes to see our spacecraft flying overhead every six hours or so. They will be at a far higher altitude and small. We are going to do a trial to help clean up the cubes, which hopefully will allow your international trade to have better chances of survival. Do not attempt to launch into space and get near them. They will have self-destruction devices in case they are tampered with. We are returning three unmanned spacecraft back to orbit, and they will be orbiting Earth every 4.5 hours, so they will be over your part of the planet and circulating west to east over your country for about 30 minutes per craft. These craft will attract the cubes and destroy them. How, I cannot divulge our secrets, but if you don’t see them go over at some time in the future, then trouble will reappear out in space pretty shortly.”
“Sounds like an excellent plan,” replied Doug. “If you can minimize cube attacks from space, that could lower our shipping losses and give us a chance to begin using our larger shipping fleet again. Size of ship doesn’t matter to the submarines, and we can then direct our defenses to destroying the underwater attackers. As far as missiles are concerned, our friend has given us their latest Dome system. Their new system has also been designed to be aboard ships and can protect the vessel from any atmospheric missile attacks. Unfortunately, they are not cheap, but we have procured ten of these systems. Then, with their systems and with ten good-sized vessels of ours, we believe that we can open up a safe sea lane where even more ships can cruise within a mile of these Dome systems and be protected. I’m sure that if your plan works, you will see a more prosperous southern hemisphere on Earth when your crew return. And by the way, we have your island choices down to ten. We will pick you out the best we can.”
Once the three shuttles were supplied with enough provisions for a month, and the new crew container fitted into SB-I, the three shuttles, helped by a dozen spacewalkers, were each fitted with a defunct freighter attached to the underneath of the craft.
For Saturn, Penelope and Pluto Jane, their time had arrived to show the bridge what they had learned. Jonesy and Maggie had made sure that they had rearranged the crew compartment into a place of comfort and relaxation. All seats but the rear row of four had been removed. Vertical beds—horizontal beds with tie-downs—could be used, as the electromagnet built into the floor of the craft gave everything metallic a pull equal to about 18 percent of Earth. Unfortunately, the shuttles didn’t spin like the mother ship, so the added 18 to 30 percent at the outer level was sorely missed, but 18 percent was better than nothing. Wearing metal shoes, they could walk normally, but liquids and food would float, so bath bags and even the vertical beds were sometimes a better option. Everything else, like the computer, seats, cargo and any other items to make the journey better, was either encased in a metal frame or tied down to the floor of the shuttle.
By the time SB-I left her docking port, her interior was emptier than the other two, but they also had a screen to watch movies, a computer and mike to patch into the communications and even a refrigerator full of goodies. To the Pitt family, it was like a floating heaven with five times the space in the cockpit.
“SB-III, cargo attached and leaving the shield,” said Saturn, once she maneuvered her shuttle through the shield of the non-rotating mother ship.
“SB-II. We are five minutes from departure, over,” replied Pluto Jane Saunders.
“SB-I. We are still connected to our liquid oxygen refueling system. Girls, our new rear compartment is so big and perfect. Fifteen minutes to release from docking port, over.”
“SB-III, roger that. I will float away from the port side of the mother ship and hold position two miles out, over.”
It took 40 minutes before all three shuttles formed up and were in formation. Ryan could see them off his port side as the ship began its “gravity” rotation behind the bridge. They all looked pregnant with the freighters tied onto their bellies, but aerodynamics didn’t matter in space.
“Roger, igniting thrusters, peeling away to port and setting course for Earth,” said Saturn Jones. Ryan watched as the three shuttles fired their rear thrusters and began turning away from him. It usually took several minutes before they disappeared, and slowly the three shuttles in formation turned in a 180-degree turn, completing a third of it before disappearing from sight. He followed their precise turn on the radar screen, and 20 minutes later they were increasing thrust and heading in the opposite direction.
“Time to first orbit: seven days eleven hours and 20 minutes at 49,500 knots cruise velocity. Cruise velocity will be attained in 27 hours from now. Thrust: 75 percent for 169 minutes. Your course is perfect. Bon voyage, ladies,” said Igor from the bridge.
“Enjoy yourselves, girls, and mind those horrible cubes,” added Lunar Richmond, plotting their course with Igor. Ryan had little to do. Captain Pete and Mars Noble were backing up Igor on another computer, checking all the readouts from all three craft.
Jonesy was asleep in the rear compartment, and so was Allen Saunders in SB-II. Maggie and Jamie were in the copilot seats doing nothing but monitoring, and the Pitts watched a movie in their new section. Penelope had done this so many times before that she didn’t even want them in the cockpit. To all three girls this was a simple flight, something they had gone over a thousand times in the simulators.
Within an hour of flight and already 35,000 miles behind the mother ship, all three craft had empty cockpits, and the crews were enjoying dinner in their compartments.
“Remember the days of vodka rationing heading home from DX2014?” said Jonesy to Maggie. They were sipping from food packets, not allowing the contents to get loose in the cabin. Jonesy was tied down on the couch while Maggie and Saturn were strapped in comfortable chairs with their metallic shoes off. They didn’t need footrests, as the lack of gravity gave them automatic ones.
“You were a real pain in the butt on that first flight home,” replied Maggie.
“Well, what do you expect, me having to sit around in a darn horrible pink rear compartment whenever I was allowed in, wife?” countered her husband. “The color would have made any intelligent man delusional. Plus, I had to beg for your secret stash of jerky like a dog for Beggin’ Strips, and you sometimes felt sorry for me and handed me my—yes my—supplies of vodka. Which were meant to be a gift from Ryan to VIN and me, not for you to dole out like we were at a food bank.” Maggie smiled at the remembrance.
“What are Beggin’ Strips?” asked Saturn. “Didn’t you have real jerky in those days?”
“Something we used to give our pets on Earth,” replied Maggie. “If I remember, they were bacon-flavored.”
“And your mother can be the meanest person aboard this ship,” countered Jonesy, opening the refrigerator for a fresh packet of beer.
“I believe I am the meanest aboard SB-III,” said Saturn. “I’ve got both of your genes. Actually, I could be the meanest SOB aboard America One, maybe even the world, with my genes.”
“Saturn, your mother is present!” remonstrated Jonesy, smiling at his daughter. “But she acted like you expected, returning from DX2014.” That got him a hard space punch to the shoulder, which would have propelled both of them in opposite directions across the compartment if they weren’t tied down.
“I’ve got first go after breakfast on the bike,” said Maggie, changing the subject and looking up at the roof of the oval cylinder where the bike was ready, upside down and fixed to the roof.
Dinner at the Jones household was never boring. To the Jones family, this was a normal family dinner except for the complete lack of gravity. Anybody on Earth would have found it quite amusing to be with them, sucking hot food out of reusable packets while your hair stood vertical.
Beer and alcohol also came from silver packets, and metal tags on the bottom of each packet for all their provisions keeping cold in the space refrigerator stayed in neat rows. One section had breakfast packets, the next lunch and dinner together. In the refrigerator door were the packets that Jonesy and Maggie enjoyed during and after dinner only. Today, they could partake, as neither of them were flight commander, and Saturn was too young to drink anyway.
Also, it was her twelfth birthday in a few days’ time, and there were a few surprises hidden around the craft. Saturn’s birthday was also due for its own fireworks display, just a day early.
A week later they passed through 5,000 mile altitude, still in the Middle Earth Orbit or MEO zone, and under Saturn’s orders began fanning out in a line around the planet. Even at faster speeds than usual, it took SB-III six hours to complete their first orbit as they descended to 3,000 miles. From this altitude, they could still see the entire side of the planet from the shuttles.
Low Earth Orbit ended at 1,240 miles above Earth, and Ryan knew that the cubes could reach the MEO zone, as that was where the strongest attacks on America One’s shield, at about 10,000 miles, had begun on the last visit.
This time the crew on the bridge, now out of range for communications with Earth and the three shuttles, knew that few of the cubes would have made it that high yet and would take at least 12 to 24 hours to climb the extra altitude into the mid-level to attack the shuttles.
The crew aboard America One had done a lot of homework on the most modern U.S. and Chinese cubes since their arrival over three months earlier. They had received much information from old friends by radio from both countries. As usual, it was NASA’s latest designs that were copied by the Chinese.
All these cubes used a minute amount, a few grams, of Plutonium-238 in tiny reactors to power their directional controls, stabilizers, and computers in space. They had several hours of liquid hydrogen fuel for their tiny side thrusters, and most of their initial speed came from the reusable first stage, solid fuel launchers and then second stage hydrogen thrusters propelling them into space. The cubes left Earth aboard a first stage launcher as powerful as a large missile. The first stage ended at around 40 miles and fell back to Earth. Then the cube was propelled into LEO at far faster speeds than the shuttles by its second stage, which separated and self-destructed at 100 miles.
By this time the average cube was travelling at 28,000 miles an hour or more. A third stage which could be turned on or off by its directional systems, its size about a meter cubed, ignited when prey was found. The job of the third stage was to allow the cube to close and engage its target, or any other target which came closer. The third cube allowed the payload of explosives to change orbital height, up or down, like a missile, or change direction to keep a lock on its target.
This third-stage fuel cell, Ryan and Igor were told, was enough for about an hour of thrust. This thrust in the vacuum of space, for 60 minutes, could propel the cube up to 50,000 miles an hour, although still in rising orbits around Earth. Once this last stage was done, only minor changes could be made from then on by the tiny side thrusters. It was the third stage that either propelled the cube, its nose cone pointed like a missile so there was little atmospheric interference on reentry, down onto a ground target, or thrust it up into even higher altitudes.
Gaining altitude took time, and once in orbit, only smaller or larger, higher orbits could be negotiated by the cubes. Even though the first attacks in their last visit were as high as 23,000 miles, it had taken the cubes weeks or months of ever-increasing orbits to achieve that height. So would be the case at 3,000 miles.
Ryan and the crew gambled that very few of the cubes had actually ignited their third stages to increase altitude. The cubes were happy taking out the enemy at far lower altitudes, the unused fuel used as added explosive. The bridge believed that the three shuttles had at least 24 to 48 hours descending under 5,000 miles before the first attacks. The cubes should detect the shuttle’s incoming presence at about geostationary altitude, ignite and begin the long task of climbing up to attack the shuttles.
Saturn and her pilots had ten hours remaining when they reached their 3,000-mile target altitude and still needed to slow to release the freighters at the correct orbital speed of just below 26,500 miles an hour. Even at this higher altitude and high orbital speed, they were no match for the much-faster cubes traveling at up to 70 times the speed of sound.
“Two minutes to release, shuttle shields away,” said Saturn as they orbited the Earth with one-third of the planet between each shuttle. Even though they were over 30,000 miles apart, their communications were perfect.
“Roger, shields deactivated,” replied the other two. In each craft, the men had spacewalked out of the hatch, readying the freighters for release. Inside the shuttle shields they had actually entered the empty freighters and checked the black boxes as well as the computer aboard for self-destruction. Each freighter was about the size of a semi-trailer, and each astronaut could see that the last decade of space travel had started the inside’s erosion. Here and there were areas of white dust. The space torches and the blue light coming in from the opened hatches made the insides bright.
Vitaliy had inspected each one, placing the instruments inside them before they had left the mother ship, and he and his crew reckoned that they had at least another four to five decades of service before their structures weakened. He had joked that the freighters would outlive both Jonesy and Ryan.
Jonesy checked his. Inside, it was like an empty cylinder thirty feet long. The black box was inside the inner wall on a welded frame around it. On one side of it was a small lead reactor designed for this specific job. Inside was a tenth of a pound of Plutonium-238, borrowed from America One’s main reactor. This was turned into energy to power the shield. Since this setup had already been used, it was a no-brainer for Ryan to use it again.
With a half-life still of over 70 years remaining, the shield would be powered for a long time to come. On the other side of the black box was the computer and screen inside a protective atmospheric sleeve. Outside sensors had been placed. The computer was the direct connection to the shuttles and could activate the shield as well as the ten pounds of explosives underneath the black box.
In Allen’s and Michael’s craft were the exact same systems, and they were all gone over, and then the spacewalkers undid the metal connections holding the cylinders to the floor of the shuttles.
Slowly the empty freighters, all three of which still had “Earth-Exit” written on their outside walls, floated away from the belly of the shuttles. They were still tied by a ten foot metal arm a quarter-inch thick to the shuttle, which could be separated by an explosion when ready.
“One minute to release,” said Saturn, once Jonesy and the other two were back inside.
“I have the first approaching cube on radar,” said Maggie sitting in the copilot’s seat. “It is at 1,500 mile altitude, passing through 47,000 knots and coming up 13,000 miles behind SB-III.”
“I have it visual,” said Jamie Saunders 32,000 miles behind. “I have three more on radar, far below us at 1,900 miles altitude and 49,000 knots.”
“I hope ours is not American,” replied Maggie to Saturn only over their intercom. “I’m sure the U.S. President wouldn’t fire on his own daughter.”
“I suppose he could be a bad man, but even my father wouldn’t fire at me,” replied Saturn, smiling at her mother.
“I count nearly two dozen cubes ahead of us and behind you, SB-II,” added Penny Pitt, who had just completed helping her husband off with his spacesuit. “I can’t see the cubes you guys mentioned, but they are like a whole quiver of arrows 20,000 miles between you and me, Jamie. All at 1,800 miles altitude, and I assume, following the ones you can see. We have yet to see any behind us. Oh! There is a launch detection on computer. Central Mongolia; are we allowed to blast their sites?”
“Go for it,” remarked Jonesy. “As commander of laser operations, and on behalf of my daughter, I give you open season on all launch sites,” he joked.
“Michael, I have the site locked. Hurry up and get the laser in operation,” the entire crew heard Penny Pitt order her husband. They did not hear his response.
“5… 4… 3… 2… 1… freighter detached,” said Saturn, and with a small explosion their freighter released from the shuttle. “Increase thrust by 1 percent,” she ordered the shuttles, and like a choreographed ballet, the shuttles, foot by foot, slowly slipped away faster than the unmanned spacecraft now on their own orbits around planet Earth.
“Sixty seconds to freighter shield extension,” noted Saturn. A minute later, the shields were activated. The shuttles only several hundred yards ahead of the freighters turned to face backward, using their side thrusters.
As if on cue, the blue shields grew around the cylinders, controlled from the shuttles. They were extended to about 20 feet around the cylinder. At 75 percent of maximum power from the tiny reactors, there was enough to protect the cylinders from the cubes, but not a nuclear blast from a full blown missile.
“SB-I’s dummy target ready for operation,” said Penelope Pitt first.
“SB-II’s ready and operational,” added Pluto Jane Saunders.
“SB-III’s dummy target operational,” added Saturn. “Face shuttles forward, and increase thrust by 3 percent.” Slowly the blue shields got smaller and smaller.
“Launch from Hong Kong area of China,” said Jamie Saunders.
“Burn them,” replied Jonesy.
“We are three miles from our drops. Increase thrust by ten percent, increase speed to 25,000 knots and let’s climb to 4,000 miles, over,” ordered Saturn, and the craft blew up the launch sites as they passed the coordinates from one craft to the other.
The shuttles gained altitude, and on the next orbit were 300 miles above the blue shields as they began to take one or two hits only seen on their radars.
“We have heavy launches from Mongolia and southern China,” said Penelope Pitt as her father, now in the copilot’s seat, blasted away at the coordinates given to him from the onboard target computer.
“Don’t those guys ever learn? Zero launches from the U.S. Two from North Korea. Those sites are history, and I’m not getting much of the action yet,” said Jonesy, sitting next to his daughter.
“You are over the wrong part of the globe,” laughed Allen Saunders. “I have a dozen more sites to blast over China, and I’ll see if I can leave you a few.”
“I think they are wanting our blood bad,” added Michael Pitt. “There was another strike on the shield below us. The cubes we are following are all climbing up to take the bait. I see several dozen. The ones we saw on the last round, now at 2,600 miles altitude, will be attacking on their next orbit.”
“Happy Birthday, Saturn!” shouted Jonesy two hours later as he interfaced the target cameras onto Saturn’s screen, which was locked onto the shield below them. They were on the dark side of the planet, the sun’s rays not touching them, and the cubes, as Michael Pitt had mentioned, a few dozen of them, exhausted themselves against the shield 600 miles below them.
It was as good as any fireworks display, and because the shield was over New Zealand at the time, many on Earth could see the explosions if they were looking through telescopes.
Ryan had made sure that several people in that part of the world were looking, and the explosions were only a few hours ahead of the schedule planned on the bridge ten days earlier.
Jonesy changed onto a frequency used by many countries on Earth.
“Sierra Bravo III, Astermine to Earth. I have a message from Ryan Richmond, CEO of Astermine Space. Sorry to break your bubble, guys, but we thought to return and enjoy the fireworks show. It’s my daughter’s birthday present, the firework display from you guys. Thanks so much. Think of our return as changing our minds. We have mean attack ships up here and they will be orbiting Earth for the next decade. Yes, you heard correct, at least ten years. Mr. Richmond asked me to tell you to throw whatever you want at us. We have already destroyed 297 of your new cubes just today and flattened 37 launch pads in three countries: China, Russia and North Korea, and we are ready for more. As my boss said, we, Astermine Space, now own the entire LEO, MEO and all upper orbits from now on. All our craft have lasers. We may not fire on Earth again, but we will destroy anything you want to send us. So go about your business down there on planet Earth, and remember, Big Brother is watching you from up here. And start up international trade again. It might do you some good. General John Jones, United States Air Force, still retired, signing off from space.”
“You have to make it so comical?” Saturn asked from the seat next to him.
“It was supposed to be a serious message,” added Allen Saunders.
“Thank you, General Jones. We hope to have a better world when you return,” said Doug down in Canberra. On Saturn’s mark, the shuttle pilots had all changed the radio frequency to the one they used with Australia.
“Thank you, sir,” Jonesy replied. “It is a pity I’m not allowed to fly in and collect a few more goodies. Another day’s fishing would be great.”
“Oh! Break protocol Jonesy and I’ll take you out for a day,” added Bob Mathews.
“You still in Australia, Bob?” Jonesy asked. “Our orbits are far slower up here, which gives us time to talk.”
“Not something we were supposed to do, apart for giving our message,” reminded a smiling Allen to Jonesy. “We knew that scoundrel Bob Mathews would tempt us with all the spices of Earth.”
“No, Jonesy, Allen, between 100 and 1,000 miles offshore from Darwin, I don’t want to give my location away, but we are trolling for dinner. Remember, I have only the best equipment aboard my ship. I’m sure Doug has more temptations than us three out here in the middle of nowhere.”
“Thanks, guys. Bob, fish well. Doug, see you in a few years. I have to keep to my orders and stay off the air. Get a nice island for us and the Jones family will be there fishing one day. So long to all on planet Earth.”
Chapter 17
Return to Mars
It took the NextGen pilots the allotted time to catch up with America One. Space was vast, and there was no way to cut corners. The mother ship was on a directional arc to connect with Mars, and the three shuttles followed a slightly tighter arc at a higher speed to catch up with the rest of the crew.
“America One, do you copy, over?” asked Saturn Jones on their tenth day after leaving the freighters behind in LEO fighting off the cubes. A faint response was heard but it was far too incoherent to understand. America One was over four million miles from Earth, and the shuttles had only passed the two-million-mile mark. It took time for the ever-increasing speed to rise once the thrusters had been turned off at 40,000 knots, three hours after leaving the last orbit.
Until they reached 40,000 knots, America One went faster than they did. Saturn tried again 48 hours later, got no better a response and gave up for a week.
Life on the shuttles was getting monotonous. Even Jonesy was looking forward to helping VIN and Suzi in the cubes again. Hard work began to sound nice. To keep fit, the astronauts spent four hours a day biking upside down above their crewmembers.
“This journey is different from the ones we did to DX2014,” said Jonesy to Maggie one morning sitting in the cockpit with the rear door closed. The bike with Saturn working hard on it above them was beginning to squeak, and they had not packed any lubricant.
“In what way?” asked Maggie, reading a book on her tablet in the copilot seat.
“We have always orbited around planets while flying SB-III, or headed out and back to asteroids or planets getting closer to Earth. Now we are chasing America One, a million miles ahead of us, who is in turn, from the turn of the opposition yesterday, now chasing Mars. It’s like a line of aircraft heading over the Atlantic, except that the destination is going further and further away.”
“So?” asked Maggie, looking up at her always-thinking husband.
“Doesn’t that feel different to you?”
“I suppose so,” she replied. “It doesn’t really matter to me. All we can see is stars out here. The Earth is behind us, and so is the moon, which I tried to take a peek at last night. There is only the sun and the stars that never change, so I don’t see much difference. We can’t even see the other shuttles since Saturn spaced us out in an open formation five miles apart.”
“Maybe we should all get into a tighter formation,” replied Jonesy. “Mags, we could head over to the neighbors for a drink. Like if we were living on base or in suburbia, and the next evening everybody could spacewalk over to us for dinner. How does that sound?”
“Jonesy, I think you are going loopy. This space travel is getting to you. If you think I’m going to spend an hour dressing up in a bloody spacesuit to float outside and visit the neighbors, then you have gone really loopy.”
“You would have done that if we were heading out to a cocktail party, or some other party on Earth,” Jonesy said.
“Sure, to drink champagne and have a nice steak or slab of salmon or something. Hey, look at the excitement. We get all dressed up and then we spend an hour floating over to the neighbors, take an hour to get undressed, and there we will eat the same silver packets of food we are going to eat here. Also due to possible space cops wanting to ticket drunken spacewalkers heading home, we can’t drink and float home. Plus we don’t have jetpacks on board.” She shook her head, trying to figure out what her husband was smoking, and went back to her book.
Jonesy thought for a while. “I remember VIN. When we got bored, he got into his suit and just drifted in space for an hour or two. Maybe I should try that to alleviate the boredom?”
“Go for it,” replied his wife, not looking up. “You better clear it with the flight commander first, make sure your friendly space sharks don’t eat you up, and don’t be surprised if somebody cuts your line while you are out there. Close the shield. It will be like the old days in the blackness of space, and that will get your head straight again. This book is pretty good, and you are interrupting me.”
“Saturn!” said Jonesy after getting up, opening the rear door and shouting into the rear compartment. “I’m going out for a walk. Mind the ship.”
“Sure, take the dog out with you. Hey! Take the garbage out while you’re at it,” replied Saturn, biking hard and not thinking her father was actually serious.
“Where’s Dad?” she asked her mother once she opened the cockpit door over an hour later and realized that the docking port was extended.
“He took out the garbage, as you so eloquently put it, dear.” She smiled. “There he is, waving at you through the starboard side window.
“What garbage? Where’s the shield? Who gave him permission to suit up?” Saturn asked, her face suddenly pale.
“You did. He took himself out after you gave him permission, Commander,” replied her mother smiling broadly and going back to her book. “Don’t worry. VIN, your Dad and I used to do this all the time on autopilot, and without the shield it’s quite relaxing out there.”
“You take over command, Mother. I’m heading out,” and she rushed to suit up.
Even rushing it took fifty minutes to get a suit on, and once Maggie helped her on with her helmet she headed into the docking port. She snapped on her line and slowly exited the outer hatch.
“Hope you brought a couple six-packs of beer with you,” joked her father as she floated in his direction by pushing off from the side of the shuttle and moving her hand gently up his line, which was fully outstretched. He caught her foot and they maneuvered themselves gently side by side to come alongside each other, 100 feet to one side of the craft. Her teenage suit was much smaller than her father’s. Maggie waved at them from her window and went back to her book.
“What are we doing out here, Dad?” she asked. She had spacewalked dozens of times in training, but always with an agenda. This was the first time she was in space with nothing to do.
“Well, I’ve got 70 minutes remaining, you far more, but I used to watch VIN do this when we went asteroid mining. It’s like taking a walk in the park, except its night and the park never ends. I haven’t seen Earth for over a week. There it is, from here we can see it again, it’s getting smaller but you can still see the blueness of the planet. I’m relaxing, or trying to, and what else is there to do?”
“We could play I Spy,” joked Saturn.
“Yeah. Good game. We have one shuttle, one Earth, no moon, one sun and a billion stars. A great game to play out here,” he replied sarcastically. “Well our cruise speed climbed over 50,000 knots an hour about two hours ago. I suppose I have never spacewalked so fast in my life.”
“It doesn’t feel that fast,” said Saturn.
“Yeah, more like only 30,000 knots,” joked her father. She tried to punch him, and he had to grab hold of her foot as they both parted rapidly in opposite directions. “Take it easy, Saturn. VIN had a thruster pack on when he did this, but we don’t, and now we could float anywhere.”
It took time, and Saturn learned a valuable lesson. They both had to pull themselves back to the port with their lines and push themselves back out slowly to stop themselves swinging around the outside of the ship.
Once they got themselves back in a stable environment, for the next thirty minutes they just floated there on the starboard side this time and watched space go by at ten times faster than a speeding bullet. Maggie got a shock when she looked up at the end of her book and found her side window was empty of her family, but found them waving at her from the opposite side of the cockpit.
“We haven’t got you on radar yet, Saturn,” said Mars Noble from the bridge.
“We should be in radar range by tomorrow. You on the bridge alone?” Saturn Jones asked, eight days after her first spacewalk with her father. They had done two more since then.
“Our speed is as calculated: 40,000 knots, and has been steady since you left,” added the bridge commander. “And yes, it is four in the morning Nevada time, and I’m on the early morning shift. Did you have a nice birthday?”
“Yes, a fantastic fireworks display. Dad nearly got tempted by Bob Mathews to head down. We destroyed about 800 cubes in the three days we could see the explosions. We think that the three shields are surviving, and Dad made a really stupid speech to the world over the radio. How was your birthday?”
“Oh, the usual triple chocolate cake from my mother,” laughed Mars.
“Oh stop, Mars. You are making my mouth water.”
“And my dad gave me part of his old Marine suit, his Lieutenant shoulder insignia. What’s your current speed? It is supposed to be 57,300 knots today?”
“You have to ask me?” replied Saturn. “What do you think it is?”
“I suppose what I said,” he replied.
“You are nearly as dumb as my father sometimes. They are watching some old movie called “Ender’s Game” from when I was born. A real Hollywood space movie, would you believe?”
“Shuttle Flight Commander, your full report, please,” came Captain Pete’s voice over the speakers, and Saturn sat up straight.
“Yes, Captain. Forward speed 57,345 knots, sir, calculated by a new computerized star pattern nine minutes ago. Estimated distance from you: 1,063,000 miles. Estimated time of arrival including 60 hours of slowing to 40,000 knots: 3 days 11 hours 45 minutes, sir.”
“You are seven hours ahead of schedule?” Captain Pete asked.
“Must be a tailwind, sir,” remarked Saturn, which made her father smile as he entered the cockpit.
“Fuel reserves, Commander?” Captain Pete asked.
SB-I: 37 percent reserves. SB-II: 38 percent reserves. SB-III: 37 percent reserves. Reason for difference, sir, is that both Penelope and I moved aft and forward of SB-II to release our freighters, saving SB-II the fuel.”
“As expected, Commander. What formation are you flying?”
“Loose formation, currently five miles apart. SB I is on our starboard side, SB-II port side, sir.”
“Report to me in 48 hours, out,” replied Captain Pete, and he gave Mars Noble a stern stare.
Nine hours and ten minutes ahead of schedule, SB-III entered the blue shield around America One once the two other shuttles had docked.
They had first seen the larger ship twenty miles ahead. Jonesy was giving instruction on slowing and had left the last slowing period of twenty minutes with thrusters to the very last moment. They had nearly flown by the mother ship a couple of miles on its starboard side, but Jonesy, by coaching the three new astronauts from SB-III’s copilot seat, showed them the maximum slowing thrust, learned on DX2014. Sometimes it was better to slow the last few knots with a short full power reverse thrust than slow progressive reverse thrusting over hours.
The astronauts were happy to be able to feel the added gravity-like centrifugal force from the spinning of the mother ship. Jonesy was happy to see VIN, who told him that the Jones family had been scheduled for an hour by the pool a few hours from then.
His parents looked well and happy. On the way up to the upper level in the elevator after their briefing, they excitedly told them about all the algae building they were enjoying with Suzi. Jonesy was quite surprised that his father got on so well with everybody. That certainly wasn’t a normal Jones trait.
The three young astronauts in command of the shuttles were commended on the bridge by the team during the briefing. Ryan now knew that he would have more astronauts to depend on in the next few years, but the NextGens didn’t have their “Commander” statuses yet.
America One was a third the distance to Mars, currently 39 million miles ahead of them, and there was much to be done before they reached home.
The new robotics lab was complete and had several of the crew working with the equipment purchased on Earth during the last visit. Commander Joot and Elder Roo, in between their Matt teachings, were fascinated to think that a mechanical man, even more mechanical than VIN Noble, could be built. For hours they spent time in the lab watching and helping in any way they could, but much of their work was going through the senior Matt chests brought aboard from the Sahara. Ryan, Igor and Captain Pete sat with the two Matts as they opened one chest after the other.
Suzi and her larger team of helpers laid out Cube Four’s new Algae to Hydrogen Production System. This system comprised a newly developed bioplastic algae encasement fitted around all six walls of a cube, except for the doors on each wall of the ship’s central walkway. This encasement, completely see-through and one foot deep, grew the algae from the lighting system surrounding the walkway. Cube Three’s algae encasement was complete and had produced enough algae to hydrogen in the last three months to power SB-I to Earth and back.
It was certainly pretty in Cube Three. The rich green walls growing the algae in zero gravity conditions had the encasement lit back and front, which made all six walls a vivid bright green. This was a complete contrast to the vivid blue of the shield outside the ship.
As Jonesy had mentioned on his last walk through the walkway, America One was traveling through space in glorious Technicolor.
Suzi’s project was to have four of the seven cubes producing algae by the time they reached Mars, and the bioplastic machines in the biology section were working as fast as they could using all the waste and remains of the older plants.
Mr. Rose, back on Mars, was working on the same project, and was hoping to have one of the floors inside one whole blue shield producing hydrogen before Suzi returned.
As Suzi had explained to Ryan, all algae needed to grow was water, sunlight and nutrients. Once the algae was deprived of sulfur, hydrogen was produced instead of oxygen. This had been done on Earth since 2010, but over the last 12 years, Suzi’s team had bioengineered their strain of algae to now being able to produce hydrogen 100 times more efficiently than when they had left Earth a decade earlier. Jonesy found it most uninteresting when Suzi gave her lecture a few months earlier, how they had used cloning to grow the population of algae and how their strain would last forever. He had suggested to her to attempt to get him to last forever, something he alone learned from the others’ comments, and from Suzi in her curt German way, that it was not to be.
With four of the new black boxes brightly lit on Mars in a year or so, and using four of the seven cubes on America One, she believed that she could produce enough hydrogen to fuel all necessary future journeys by all craft, including the mother ship. This was her twenty-year project. She had nine years to go, and was ahead of schedule.
With the chests emptied, hundreds of documents were ready to be inspected to learn how to build the black boxes, how to produce Cold Fusion, and how to produce the fantastic wall linings, the invisible doors, the cryogenic chambers and many other lesser inventions found in all the Matt bases so far.
In one Inventor’s chest alone were thousands of thin papyrus leaves filled with explanations, drawings and diagrams, and Ryan actually wondered how much of this advancement had been made from the old Matt race that had visited Commander Joot’s ancestors, and how much was their own technology.
As Mars drew closer over a couple of months, the work routines revolved around the clock, around education, sleep and survival. As the newbies quickly learned, work was hard in the mother ship, and so was the enjoyment, and new types of entertainment grew from creative minds.
A drama club was formed, mostly by the females of the crew. They spent a few hours a day in the cafeteria working on ideas on how to entertain the others. They did have zillions of things on hard drive, movies and documentaries, but nothing was added, new or present, and over time what was worth viewing was watched.
All had been taken away from Earthlings who had grown up being entertained 24/7, and that meant that something had to be done about it. Many assumed that the same was happening with the old crew on Mars. By now they had been inside their new home for nearly a year. Even though the new vegetation fields were producing, as with farming there was a never-ending work cycle.
Chickens and rabbits bred, plants grew and were harvested, and much of the work done by everybody was to sustain themselves in an alien world that wasn’t friendly and did not forgive mistakes, any mistakes.
For the crew in America One on the bridge, it was a constant surveillance of monitoring the ship, its power usage, its direction, and the overall importance of meeting up with the red planet.
With the astronauts not flying, apart from daily simulator training and schooling for the NextGens, everyone had chores to complete. Security was always an issue, especially in down time, as this was when modifications or new parts could be designed and produced by the hundreds of 3-D scanners and printers. Each department had these, sometimes a dozen units of each. Even the doctors had the latest gear from Israel. Instead of making bioplastic or metal parts out of cobalt or nickel, they gathered new substances from Suzi and worked on making new body parts like heart valves, veins, and arteries.
Dr. Walls was in heaven, as much as every scientist aboard. While the doctors with help from interns invented new medicine and body parts, the robotics lab under Vitaliy and VIN’s control designed new metal body parts and mini-lasers that would one day be the crew’s defense.
Chapter 18
Home Again
One hundred and eighty one days after leaving LEO, America One entered a 200-mile high orbit of Mars.
Two weeks earlier, much to Ryan’s dismay, Fritz Warner the base commander of The Martian Club Retreat told Ryan about a flyover visit from a spaceship they had thought was Commander Joot returning. Through a scratchy reception Ryan and Commander Joot spoke with Fritz.
“You thought this ship to be mine?” Commander Joot asked Fritz in English. Ryan had suggested that English be the language spoken on any radio communications with Mars, in case anybody else was listening. The bridge knew that nobody on Earth was.
“Affirmative, Commander,” Fritz replied a few minutes later, still 200,000 miles away. “Everything is fine down here. We have had very few problems. All projects are running according to plan. You guys are early, six months earlier than your earliest estimated return date. I would assume you couldn’t stand the politics on Earth, over?”
“Correct there, Mr. Warner,” smiled Ryan. “Tell us when it happened, and what this craft looked like.”
“It was first seen about four weeks ago, after sunset by an outside detail on security patrol. The observers thought it to be silver, about the size of Commander Joot’s craft, and it sped over extremely fast in the dying sun’s rays, like a meteor crossing the sky at about 10,000 feet. The next night, it came back at exactly the same time, slower this time, and flying in the opposite direction, east to west. Our security personnel took video footage. I am sending up the feed to you as we speak. The third night it returned again, always several minutes after the sun had gone down. This night, several of us were in the outside chamber looking up hoping to see it. It returned very slowly, descended and hovered over the shields for about a minute, and then headed back in the direction it had come. Then it did not appear for 20 days. We had a pretty bad storm outside for most of that time, a really bad dust storm. A few nights ago, two craft appeared, once the skies were clear. They hovered over the two shields and again returned back the way they had come. We thought it your two Matt craft, and were surprised that they didn’t come in to land. We tried radio communications, but received no reply, over.”
“And you say both these craft looked like my Matt craft?” asked Commander Joot for the second time.
“Identical,” was the reply.
“Mr. Warner, we’ll get back to you,” added Ryan, telling Fritz of their arrival date, and then he looked at Commander Joot for answers.
“All our craft have been accounted for, except the craft used by the Ruler. We believe that to be on the blue planet,” replied Joot. “From what I have read about from the creation of our spacecraft, written inside the earliest Inventor’s chest, is that the designs from the visitors were copied by us. Only their propulsion systems we couldn’t understand. Thanks to making the shields, we managed a simplified fuel, the one that Mr. Jones seems to enjoy drinking. I believe that these Matt eaters have found our base on Mars.”
“Did they have any weapons? Did they kill any of your people? Do any records show them having a weapon like our lasers and hurting your people, Commander?” VIN asked.
“So far, there hasn’t been any record of somebody seeing them hurt anybody. The writings by Ruler Got, the first ruler who allowed them to take our women and children, said that the visitors appeared friendly. They spoke a similar language to what we speak today, and it seemed that the women and children were needed by the visitors and given in return for the systems information they were happy to exchange. I have read records from the three chests from the time they came to see us at the base of the Pig’s Snout. It seems that our history lessons didn’t include later visits by these Matts. The next Ruler wanted it kept secret, so even I have learned from these chests. Over the seven years they stayed, they came and left ten times. Each time, some new information was given to us. The records show that only one spacecraft arrived on each visit, and all believed it was the same craft. It usually stayed for about 44 days after the first three visits. On the first visit it stayed for 300 days, and once negotiations were complete, the visitors took 13 women and 20 children over that time.”
“How many visitors were there?” Ryan asked.
“The writings always tell of three visitors, and over that time none of the women or children were ever seen again. On the second and third visits, it was the same visitors, and their visits were 150 days and then 75 days. There was a two-year period between the first three visits.”
“The opposition period between Earth and Mars maybe?” said Captain Pete.
“I believe you are right, Captain,” Joot added. “The fourth visit was in the last year, and the aging Ruler Got was still in command of the tribe. It is written that he was angry with the visitors because none of their ideas worked. It seems that it was up to Ruler Got to find the necessary supplies needed. Of course he didn’t know what iridium or palladium was, and there wasn’t supplies around our home. Ruler Got offered only three women and six children on this visit, and told the visitors to bring them the necessary supplies. They did 40 days later. By this time Ruler Got was a very old man, and they laid all these shiny metals, about two tons in your weight, at his feet. The records state that there were ten different metals. He kept his word and gave them more of our tribe. Ruler Got died 33 years later, but he saw the frame of our first spaceship, and the working of the first colorless shield over our chamber.”
“So you had learned the shield technology?” Ryan asked.
“Yes, but it did not work properly. One more metal was needed. Igor told me that it was osmium.”
“Yes,” added Igor. “From our lab reports of the shield’s color and the walls of the bases, it seems that the rare metal osmium gives both systems their luster. The blueness of the shield is composed of minute atoms of osmium floating in the shield wall and sparkling, like light hitting billions of tiny diamonds. The same with the base walls. Osmium heated by the base’s Cold Fusion reactor glows and this time is pink. The color represents the heat of the wall: blue has no heat, pink is low heat, and white is ultra-high heat.”
“Continue,” Ryan instructed Joot.
“With Ruler Foy, the next Ruler, his history said that he thought they had been cheated, and that there was to be no more women or children. Forty years of inactivity passed until the same three visitors, now very old, arrived and gave them two tons of osmium. They received what they wanted, applauded the work done so far by our Inventors and left. They did not arrive for another 80 years, and this time they were new, younger visitors. They arrived with another two tons and wanted women and children. This group secretly arrived five more times, each time with a cargo load of osmium. On their tenth visit, we were mining our own osmium from a smaller meteor that had struck the planet, which the writings show many miles from our base, and the visitors were told not to come back as there were no more women and children for them. That is as far as I have read, and I believe this was the end of our visitors’ arrival history.”
“So they never hurt any of your tribe in front of the others?” Ryan asked.
Joot said that Ryan was right. “So, we don’t know if they have weapons or not, and it seems they are never in a hurry.”
Two weeks later America One went into orbit around Mars, and one by one the shuttles descended to the base transporting the newbies. Fritz Warner was happy to see the returning crew, much weight taken off his shoulders. There were hugs aplenty and introductions made for the newbies. Dr. Rogers, pale and thin but healthy, was happy to meet the new doctor. Suzi was happy to see Mr. Rose, and he was extremely happy to see all the Swiss chocolate purchased for him: fifty pounds of it. The fields were in excellent condition underneath the two shields Suzi and Ryan found out, as she and the new crew of biologists were toured around by an extremely proud Martian team.
The large amount of supplies had diminished somewhat, and there had been five new births, all girls, since they had left. The Mars crew were happy to see several boys in the returning group. The averages were still not good, three girls to each boy, but at least if the “bus” headed back and forth every two years, more boys could be brought out.
The accommodations were just enough for the new members, and the robot miners were programmed to start work on a new level below the base for extended housing.
Much to Commander Joot’s shock, many of the Martian Matts, including Elder Roo’s mother Tow, had turned the way of Jonesy, and during the welcoming party, he was completely shocked to be offered a glass of fuel by Tow herself. She happily told him how good the drinking of rocket fuel was. Even to Ryan, the crewmembers who had stayed had changed somewhat. They were all thin, extremely pale, and even though Dr. Rogers gave them a perfect bill of health, he explained to Ryan that the only long-term condition he was seeing in the crew was the gradual loss of bone density.
This he had found when checking the newborns. Their skeletons were minutely different, with less strength than the skeletons of those born on Earth.
After a three-week study by the whole medical crew, Dr. Nancy ordered that changes had to be made in the diets of all the crew. Vitamin C had to be increased by 300 percent to adjust the bone loss in the babies. Dr. Nancy had preplanned for this problem, and while in Australia, had asked Doug for several whole Kakadu plum bushes grown only in that country. Often called the Billygoat plum in Australia, Dr. Nancy knew that it had the highest Vitamin C content of any other plant. It was used by the Aborigines for several diseases, including leprosy. She hoped that this one plant would help in the most dangerous problem facing them living off Earth, and with Suzi, had nurtured and grown several more of the plants on the journey home.
The enlarged America One Crew slowly got all the new supplies down, the new topsoil, plants, luxuries and baskets of shopping the others had ordered. They hadn’t forgotten anything. Within a month of landing back at the Martian Club retreat, the base was a growing, thriving community.
Chapter 19
The First Visit
For the first year there were no unidentified flying objects seen by anybody. The base grew and the days turned into weeks, which turned into months. People stopped looking for aliens during the second year.
Jonesy and his crew collected water every other month, in between dust storms, which seemed to arrive out of nowhere and lasted up to a month at a time.
Without the new shields that had really increased their food production over the first year, life would not have been so good for the 210 inhabitants of the base.
Marriages and new babies arrived on schedule. Slowly over the first year, the two races grew together as the intermarriages increased. Everybody who was Homo sapiens seemed to grow or age while the Matts changed so much slower. For some reason still unknown to the medical team, the aging of the Matts seemed to be three times slower than the Tall People. The crossbred children also seemed to grow slower than at the speed of the pure Homo sapien children.
Jonesy’s mother was the first person to pass away on Mars. She died of natural causes and happily in her sleep 410 days after landing on Mars.
Joseph Jones didn’t survive much longer than his wife. Distraught by her passing, he was buried in a grave outside the shields and next to his wife just 55 days later.
For many this was a trying time. Jonesy’s parents had worked hard, stayed fit and were friends with everybody on the base. The Matts respected age more than the Tall People, and the aging couple were always courted in their chores by many young Matts always wanting them to tell stories of Earth. Joseph Jones enjoyed the limelight and could often be found with dozens of children around him, telling them stories Jonesy often thought he made up for the kids to enjoy. His father never told the listeners any bad stories about his family life or the youthful misdeeds of his son. They were more like fairy stories about children living on Earth.
Petra Bloom passed away in the third year. Two of the older scientists also died in the same year, and that made the other space travelers like Ryan and Jonesy realize that time was passing them by. The stories of the alien visitors wasn’t forgotten, but had faded from daily conversation.
The astronauts had held long discussions about returning to Earth during the next opposition, but by a majority vote had decided to put it off by another two years. Why go back and find the same planet with the same politics they had left two years earlier? America One tried daily to communicate with Earth, but it seemed that without any satellites in space around the blue planet, communications didn’t get replied to.
By the end of the third year, 2030 on Earth, Christmas was enjoyed as it was every year. This was the time of giving, and since there were no stores to purchase gifts, it was the time the new inventions or breakthroughs were highlighted in drama performances on a stage for the annual event.
Mars Noble, and rest of the crew of The Big Bad Five, as Mars, Saturn, Lunar, Penelope and Pluto Jane called themselves, approached fifteen years old. Over this Christmas they were to be presented with their Commander Flight Wings, and would be part of the celebrations.
On the first night of the five days of drama, both Suzi and VIN had stage debuts, although at different times. Each evening four shows of 30 minutes each were planned. The first evening was opened by Ryan who welcomed everybody to the Christmas celebrations. Captain Pete as usual stayed aboard the orbiting America One, which hadn’t seen much action for the last 36 months. With a skeleton crew of six, she spent her time orbiting Earth, while all her seven cubes grew vegetation of several different sorts. She produced large amounts of hydrogen and food, but most of her laboratories and accommodations were now empty. Apart from several technicians and a few scientists who needed to work on the mother ship, all production was down on the planet.
The shields covering crops outside the main underground base had grown over the years from two to four, and now were twelve. Captain Pete could see The Martian Club Retreat from space as it had grown so much, covering more than five acres with bright blue light, and was powered by both Cold Fusion systems. The slopes outside the initial flat base had been topped with the new soil, and the crops grew down the slopes.
Jonesy was beginning to feel his age. So was Ryan, whose hair was turning silver. VIN was still feeling young, and over the last three years had been given new prosthetics as the robotic department designed and built new parts. Tonight was the robotics department’s first unveiling.
“Ladies and Gentlemen!” said an excited Fritz Warner, Master of Ceremonies for the evening. “Tonight we begin our annual Christmas festivities with four of the most modern, never-seen-on-Earth products, which might change your life, make you happy, or as Herr Jones would put it, might be a total waste of time.” Much laughter was heard with many looking in the direction of the chief astronaut, whose facial muscles didn’t move a millimeter with the joke about him.
Jonesy had heard it all before, and for him it all passed over his head. His mind was far away, somewhere in midflight back to his happy fishing grounds. He was working on how to get more “yes” votes for returning in 2031.
Jonesy had struggled with the loss of both his parents, and the kindness of everybody who liked and admired the man had kept him going. He loved his wife and family more and more as the years passed. He loved his pool visits with them, and with VIN and Vitaliy. Several men had a Men’s Night once a month in the base’s swimming pool room. A larger pool had been constructed out of excess cylinder parts when they had perfected the crew compartments for all the six small craft.
The three shuttles were now the main emergency escape vehicles, each able to house 40 crew, 12 in each of the two cargo compartments and 16 in the underbelly compartment. With two astronauts in each, all three shuttles could take more than half of the crew back to Earth.
Astermine I and II, the two mining ships with their belly pods, were about to be completed in a month. Much smaller craft, they could comfortably take 24 crewmembers plus two pilots back to Earth. Using the blue shields for reentry, they could reenter the atmosphere and land back on the blue planet with ease. Asterspace Three was the last to be reconfigured, and would be able to carry thirty plus two.
With the base’s population at 244, the remaining 54 of the crew could use America One, which still had living space for 100. Nobody yet worried about population numbers, and had no need to.
Jonesy’s mind returned to the present.
“Our first showing tonight, ladies and gentlemen, is something that our dearly beloved Mr. Rose has spent fourteen years perfecting: a barrel-aged Cabernet Merlot.” There were the usual oohs and aahs from the wine lovers in the crowd. “Mr. Rose, if you please, and don’t drink it all yourself!”
There was much applause as the long-white-haired biologist walked on stage with one bottle of red wine. He bowed to the audience, and the room stilled to listen.
“Fellow friends of The Martian Club Retreat, I have the honor to show you the first bottle of Batch Two, our first red wine Frau Noble and I made while we were still in orbit around Earth. This wine was made from Californian grapes of two varieties: Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot. This bottle is from our first vines General Jones lifted up before he was even married.”
There was hearty applause for the astronaut.
“Let me tell you about those vines. They are our oldest vines, and we have half of Cube One in the mother ship full of new plants from these first 3 dozen vines. Because they were brought up from Earth in a mature state, they already had grapes on them. From this first batch of red, we produced 50 gallons. Ten percent disappeared through time while aged in our two 25 gallons oak casks, and we bottled them eleven years ago. Today we have 54 bottles in total. Frau Noble and I tried a bottle five years ago.” There was more applause. “We kept this one batch to make a vintage, and just to remind you wine drinkers, we have drunk most of the other batches since this one was produced, but good news. We still have two more vintage batches for you in the future. During our intermission this evening, you will be able to have a glass or two each – that is, if you partake of jet fuel, as our Commander Joot describes fourteen years of alcohol perfection.”
Everyone looked in the commander’s direction, and he smiled, thinking that he would never taste whatever the clever biologist was talking about.
The crowd watched as Ryan walked onto the stage with a wine opener and with a background of rolling drums helped Mr. Rose open the first bottle. Suzi and Kathy Richmond brought up four glasses and performed a wine tasting in front of everybody.
The second show was a new cloth for clothing made from hemp, which caused Jonesy to shout out that he now knew why Captain Pete was always up in America One, where the hemp was grown in Cube Two.
During intermission, the wine was tasted and Jonesy gave Commander Joot a glass and dared him to try it. Tow egged the commander on, and for the first time in his life, “jet fuel” passed his lips.
It was the most beautiful thing the commander had ever tasted. It tasted like earth, like soil, vines and grapes, and it was as smooth as silk. He couldn’t take just one sip, and emptied his glass. Even Jonesy looked on at the transformation of Joot’s face. He actually enjoyed the stuff. The others already knew it was good, very good, and most of the batch was drunk during an extended intermission, with Mr. Rose stating that a Batch Five Vintage would be ready next Christmas.
The third showing was a new strain of avocado-cucumber by Suzi and her department, with pieces served to the population by the NextGen biologists.
Silence reigned as the next presentation was readied. VIN Noble could be heard giving somebody orders from behind the side curtains. The room was silent as the first mechanical robot marched onto the stage next to the Head of Security.
The robot walked as easily as VIN did, dressed in military camouflage uniform. It carried a small weapon in its right hand the size of a hand gun. The weapon was connected to an empty-looking backpack.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, meet Fritz Robot, the one and only mechanical Fritz Warner, and copied from most of his body parts.”
There was loud applause.
“Fritz Robot hasn’t got its backpack on yet, and is running on battery power, exactly like my legs do. The backpack would be radioactive in here. Each of our new security guards will dress themselves in their new own plutonium power packs once outside our shields. Only then will its laser become operational. Until then, Fritz Robot has a black belt in Judo and Karate and can take your head off with one blow.”
The crowd was totally silent as two men entered from the other side with a one inch thick tube of metal about twelve feet long. The robot, on VIN’s command, hit the metal hard with its right hand, bent it into a perfect square in less than ten seconds and jumped through it. Even Jonesy was impressed.
For the next twenty minutes VIN explained that Sergeant Fritz Robot was the first of six robots on production. Its laser was accurate up to twenty miles over land or through space, and the robot’s eyes were its aiming systems, copies of the powerful cameras given to the crew from the last visit to Israel. Plutonium-238 from the backpack fed the dozen batteries inside its system, and the robot would be powered up for about 70 years. Fritz Robot could run faster and jump higher than VIN.
It then jumped as high as VIN did when ordered, turned and moved in sequence as VIN gave it further orders, and even waltzed with Maggie Jones to music when she was asked up on stage.
“Once they are outside, they will be radioactive, which means they cannot ever return inside the shields,” continued VIN. “Sergeant Warner’s buddies will be ready in twelve months and altogether will be our external security unit, and we have three more robots on the build schedule, who will only be battery operated and will be able to work inside. Their batteries from our friends at Tesla, now in Israel, will have fifteen hours of full exercise.”
“What about housemaids for cleaning and cooking?” shouted one crewmember.
VIN told her that they were on the schedule and were still 2 to 3 years out.
It was a great night, and so were the other nights, which took on a much lighter fun-filled tone as the festivities wore on.
“We need to vote on a possible visit to Earth beginning in two months’ time,” said Ryan to the astronauts in the same room ten months later. “The journey will last two years, and if we think it necessary, one shuttle will make the journey landing in Australia.”
Three years and eight months had gone by since their return to the red planet, and much to Jonesy’s distaste, most of the astronauts present didn’t think it necessary for a return again just yet. Only Jonesy wanted to return, and Ryan decided to put it off for another two years. Ryan added to the unhappy Mr. Jones that the blue planet was due to bypass Earth and Mars in four years’ time, and Jonesy was persuaded that a return during the next opposition was a serious affair, as they could come back with far more supplies on DX2017.
It was exactly a year later when the visitors returned. VIN was in his spacesuit checking on his six troops. They had worked well, had intercoms to his suit, and could take orders from VIN or Fritz Warner, when Vitaliy, who was in charge of the mother ship 200 miles above, came over the intercom. His radar showed two small craft approaching from the east.
Alarms went off inside the base and Commander Joot and a few others immediately went to climb into their spacesuits.
VIN gathered his six robots a few yards outside the shields. They had been ready for months. VIN had personally trained them in tactics like creeping up on an enemy, attacking an assailant and holding an enemy captive instead of pulverizing them into hamburger meat. VIN was also the only human who could keep up with them on the Martian surface when they went for slow runs. VIN, his legs operating on batteries, had only an hour on full power to try his best to keep up with them. With the limited gravity on the planet, and taking large strides, he and the six robots managed to cover ground at what he thought over 50 miles an hour.
When he wanted to push them to their limit, he had to fly with Jonesy in the shuttle and watch them cover the ground at well over double that. Their strides alone were ten yards at a time.
Also they had been built like modern tanks, able to run and fire accurately at the same time. VIN had actually been waiting for the aliens to arrive, as he had the first indoor security guard standing inside the blue shield. Like him, these robots ran only on battery power, had an Electrolaser instead of a laser, could walk around outside the shields, but as yet hadn’t been tested for speed or endurance.
“VIN, two small craft, distance 100 miles due east, altitude 5,000 feet above ground, speed 510 knots, ETA the base nine minutes, over,” said Vitaliy.
“Copy that, Vitaliy,” replied VIN. “All ground crew to go underground and close all external doors to the shields. Ryan, Jonesy, Commander Joot, you need to hurry if you want to meet aliens, over.”
“Robots, stand in parade formation,” ordered VIN, and the six robots formed up in two rows behind him. He faced east and waited.
They swooped over fast and disappeared as fast as they had arrived. VIN watched as they turned in a long circle a couple miles to the north and again sped over the blue shields from north to south. Their timing was a little earlier than recorded passes, as the sun had already gone down behind the crater wall. There were many-mile-long shadows across the crater, and he could follow them from the sun’s rays glinting off their silver skins. They looked like large fighters turning and coming in a mile or two away, before they silently went over his head at about a thousand feet. As he was wearing his suit he wouldn’t have heard them anyway, even if there was any noise.
They swooped over three more times before slowing and turning down into the crater, and then turned sharply, and from below him directed their next swoop over the base and the crater wall 70 feet above them.
VIN waited, all six of the robots copying his every move, all their laser guidance cameras locked onto the two craft as they flew around them.
Finally both craft returned into the crater a few miles ahead of him and at the same height as where he was standing. They must have seen him as they slowly hovered closer, both like birds of prey staring directly at him and his men from about 200 yards away.
VIN knew that the men suiting up would still be another thirty minutes before they would be ready to exit, so he just stood there, his robots recording footage of the floating spacecraft in front of them.
For over a minute nothing happened, except the sun must have gone over the horizon on the surface above the crater, it grew dark and the two craft turned away and within several seconds were gone from view in the direction they had come from.
“Track them, Vitaliy. Use the laser optics. They weren’t wearing blue shields, weren’t ours, and looked identical to Joot’s spacecraft,” ordered VIN. “Robots, take up your defensive positions. It looks like the excitement has passed for tonight.” VIN gave the all clear for the doors to be opened.
There were still the two large metal airtight doors into the complex, inside the inner and outer glasshouse structures they had built out of nanosilicone a decade earlier. Inside this structure, Suzi had new plants growing, like in a greenhouse. The nanosilicone structure was protected by the blue shield over it, and had been built tough enough to weather all the storms they had seen so far. For VIN, it was a clear view inside when he looked out at the twelve shields outside. Here the three shuttles and three mining craft were in two lines each side of the flat area in front of the base. In between the two lines of craft were the first fields where dozens of types of crops grew. To VIN it always reminded him of two lines of fighter jets on a farm.
“Heading away at 1,900 knots, 150 miles, 10,000 feet. I can see them glinting in the sun,” said Vitaliy from above.
“Maybe they can’t navigate in the dark so well?” VIN suggested.
“Looks like it from here,” added Vitaliy. “3,800 knots, 400 miles, 25,000 feet. They can certainly move if they want to.”
“Keep tracking them,” VIN heard Jonesy say.
“They are heading into the dark,” continued Vitaliy. “Maybe they just like traveling in the sunshine, as when they went into the shadow of night, their speed doubled, and now they are really accelerating. 15,000 knots, 2,000 miles from you already and heading down to 10,000 feet. Crap! They’ve disappeared. No, I got them again, speed is reducing to 12,000 knots, 2,000 feet hugging the surface as if they are making sure nobody is following them. 10,000 knots, 2,400 miles from you. Oh dear, I’m about to head over the horizon in five seconds. They are still slowing. I will get a computer analysis of where they might end up by computing their slowing speed, and…” America One headed over the horizon.
“Looks like they covered 2,400 miles in twenty minutes, Jonesy,” VIN said as four new spacesuits joined him.
“I want to head over into that general area at dawn tomorrow. Two shuttles, SB-II and III,” said Ryan.
There was excitement in The Martian Club Retreat as eight astronauts suited up three hours before dawn. Ryan, Igor, Jonesy, VIN, Allen, Commander Joot, and young Mars Noble with Saturn Jones, now about to hit their seventeenth birthdays, climbed into their suits.
Both NextGen astronauts were competent pilots, fully versed in flying all the craft, including the mother ship. They were going along for the ride, begging the adults to take them with.
It had taken much of the night to activate the two new indoor security guards, and all three were powered up in SB-III’s forward crew compartment with Electrolasers, which were pretty much useless in space conditions. Unfortunately, the outside guards would leave radioactive residue in the compartments, and there hadn’t been time to lift them out.
SB-I was having hers removed as they launched slowly out of the shields, and VIN’s six mean machines, as he called them, could be backup for the next visit, or ready if the base was attacked.
Overnight and on his next ride across their black sky, Vitaliy had sent computerized estimates of where the alien craft were heading. America One’s computers reckoned that the two craft were going into an area 2,900 miles due east of Ryan’s base. Ryan wanted the shuttles to follow the exact path, and Jonesy made sure that they did. At 5,000 knots and 10,000 feet above the dark surface they traveled east.
Within 30 minutes, they descended to 5,000 feet where their ground directional systems took them around mountains higher than their altitude. Slowing to 500 knots for the last 300 miles and with the sun coming over the horizon, they descended down to 2,000 feet and S-turned around hills and mountains in their way.
“Still haven’t seen any blue shields,” VIN said in Jonesy’s copilot seat. Up to now he had been scanning the ground with the laser-aiming cameras, but now it wasn’t necessary anymore.
“Change the cameras to infrared search with an alarm,” suggested Jonesy. “We are going blind,” he said as the weak small sun rose over the horizon. They were flying directly into the sun, and the two shuttles were flying purely on instruments. “SB-II, slow to 250 knots, 2,500 feet altitude and keep a one mile distance. I don’t want a midair collision.”
“Copy that,” returned Allen, who had Mars Noble as copilot.
“Still negative heat source down there,” Mars added. “Suggest one scanner on infrared and the other on heat?”
“Roger that, I’ll keep mine on heat,” replied his father, smiling at his son’s growing experience. He was about to give the order himself.
For an hour they flew around the large area that Vitaliy had suggested could be the target zone. They found nothing.
“There, dead ahead on the top of that mountain, I see a flat plateau,” said Ryan, peering through the forward windshield of SB-III with binoculars. “Mr. Jones, let’s retract shields and head there. It’s in the middle of nowhere, and I’m sure we can look down at much of the area from there more clearly once the shields are down.”
The two shuttles retracted their shields and gently put down on the flat plateau on the side of a mountain. It was high, about 6 to 7,000 feet above the surface area, and it was like looking down into a hundred-mile-wide Grand Canyon on both sides of the steep mountain.
“A good vantage point,” suggested Ryan.
“Lucky there is no wind or storm up here,” added Jonesy.
They all climbed out of the shuttles. The vista was beautiful, and Ryan reminded himself to get video footage. Mars was a hostile place to live, but its desert beauty was often far more impressive than one could see on Earth.
The mountaintop was nearly flat and only a few hundred feet or so across. SB-III pointed south and SB-II faced the other way. Both areas below them looked vast and about the same distance, and with no storms in the area there was no dust blocking their view.
“America One to Ryan. We are over the horizon and I have your pinging on my screen. You are stationary, at 7,200 feet above the surface and dead in line to the heading those craft were going last night. Are you guys hovering, spacewalking, or what, as I see heat shapes around your ships?”
“Negative. We are atop a mountain, the heat shapes are us, and I have our scanners directed south and north,” replied Ryan.
“Roger, got you on camera feed, certainly a pimple on a flat surface. Like a mini-volcano without a crater,” added Vitaliy.
“Thanks for the volcano part, Ivan the Terrible,” said Jonesy.
“Mr. Noble, what can your new robot fellows see from up here with those fancy cameras in their heads?” Asked Ryan. “This is certainly a good vantage point.”
VIN opened the shuttle’s forward cargo area roof doors, and after being given orders by VIN, the three robots nimbly sprang out and landed several feet from the suits.
“Not bad, partner. They jump far higher than you,” said Jonesy, impressed.
“Remember, I have human tissue to break; they don’t,” VIN replied.
“That must have been a forty foot leap,” added Allen Saunders.
“Still nothing on the infrared screens,” said Mars from SB-II.
“Nothing from my side,” added Saturn in SB-III’s copilot seat.
The astronauts had made a practice of not leaving their craft unattended, and each craft not at base always had a pilot ready to launch if necessary.
“No movement from up here either,” added Vitaliy. “Will be heading over the horizon in 20 minutes.”
“Well, they seem to arrive at the same time. We might get lucky and see movement toward dark,” suggested VIN.
For the rest of the day the adults sat in SB-III’s crew compartment and waited out. If they were going to see any movement toward their base, it would be later. The camera feed from the three robots, and the infrared and heat feeds from the two shuttles, would tell them if anybody passed by.
Saturn, suited up, and went over to Mars’s craft once her father had entered. She preferred to wait out the time with him instead of the old guys.
The robots were brought in two hours before sunset, and both craft readied for possible action. Vitaliy, who had the best view, saw nothing on his pass, and it was seconds after he headed over the horizon that SB-III’s heat sensors picked up two craft coming in from the east a few thousand feet below them.
“Incoming, 300 knots, 3,000 feet and about ten miles east of us,” said Jonesy excitedly into the intercom. They were using the intercom between the two shuttles and not the radio frequency used to communicate with the mother ship or base. “They will pass about ten miles to our south, and are gaining altitude. I’m computing their direction into my computers. That puts their base at least another 100 or so miles east of here, so this is a good vantage point. Power up; we are out of here in ten minutes.”
“Roger that,” replied Mars, the older men still in SB III.
It took the shuttles normally 15 to 20 minutes to be readied for launch. Luckily Jonesy had given orders a few minutes earlier to warm the thrusters. Also, the temperature outside in the sun was only ten below zero, so it was a warm afternoon out there.
Ten minutes later both shuttles took off and swooped down the side of the mountain to stay hidden at 2,000 feet above the surface.
“Bogeys 200 miles ahead of us, 500 knots at 9,000 feet. Mars, climb at 250 feet per minute and increase speed to 1,000 knots, over,” ordered Jonesy.
As they rapidly caught up the two alien craft, both the crew could see that they were heading west directly to The Martian Club Retreat. They didn’t get to within 100 miles of the alien craft before the aliens must have seen their tails, as both craft headed away in hard 90 degree turns, one north and the other south.
“Mars, you head after the one heading south, I’ll tail the other going north,” ordered Jonesy as he thrustered SB-III into a hard turn and increased rear thrusters to 90 percent.
The shuttles were fast, and seemed faster than the alien craft. The one Jonesy was following headed down to the ground like a hawk after prey. He followed, his speed already over 3,000 knots. It was still sunny and the flat surface came up to meet them very quickly. To Jonesy, this type of flying was what he lived for, and SB-III began skimming the red planet 1,000 feet above the flat surface, and at 5,000 knots. The alien craft was not getting away, and he pushed the thrusters to 100 percent. Now, looking out of the windshield to the others, the moving scenery looked like a fast computer game as they skimmed the surface faster and faster. Suddenly the alien craft angled up and went vertical.
Even with the weak Martian gravity, the crew could feel Gees on their body from the planet. None of the four craft had blue shields deployed, which would have decreased the pull on their bodies. Jonesy wondered if it was possible to fly inside the shield in such demanding conditions. The aliens weren’t.
Their spacesuits hid most of the force as Jonesy headed vertical under full power, catching the alien craft.
“Jonesy, 100,000 feet, 19,000 knots, your thrusters are about to overheat,” said VIN calmly, sitting next to him in the copilot seat.
“Reducing to 94 percent, 118,000 feet 21,000 knots. Fuel reserves please, partner?”
“Currently at quarter tanks,” replied VIN.
“We have ten minutes of chase left in us. Oh crap! He’s heading down again,” said Jonesy. “Going down, and he hit the side thrusters at full power and turned his craft as fast as he could in a 180 degree angle.”
“I’m heading over the eastern horizon; see both your positions and your prey,” said Vitaliy.
“I’ve lost mine, fuel low, heading home,” said Mars, sounding dejected.
Jonesy was not giving up just yet. “Heading down vertical 97,000 feet 24,000 knots. Crap this is fast, too fast, two seconds to pulling out,” and he pulled the stick up as a blue shield suddenly grew about 20,000 feet below him in the dark and directly in front of him on his radar screen. The darkness of night suddenly enveloped them as they dropped, and the blue shield sped off toward the east at an ever-increasing speed. Jonesy had his question about the blue shields answered.
“Lost it on radar,” said Vitaliy. “Can’t find it on heat or infrared.”
“Roger,” replied Jonesy. “It has disappeared off our screens as well. Fuel too low to give chase. Deploying my shield to also disappear. Vitaliy, try to see a trail, any trail. Heading back to base.”
Chapter 20
The Battle
The aliens didn’t visit again for six months. Jonesy gave up trying to find their base. They spent over a hundred hours of valuable fuel carefully searching the area Vitaliy was sure they had originated from.
The current production of liquid hydrogen up in America One was the main reason Ryan stopped the search.
VIN was happy. He was ecstatic about his new troops and said to everybody that the aliens would search them out when they were ready. Jonesy wasn’t happy, as there was only four months before it was the next planetary opposition cycle, and he wanted to go fishing.
The fuel was replaced over the period and reserves were taken down to the surface. All six smaller craft were complete and ready for an emergency evacuation if necessary. Ryan wasn’t taking any chances. His only problem that another dozen babies had been born in the last few months, and even the first of the NextGen were getting married.
He was happy about one thing though. Hans the German, the physicist who had headed to Earth and been dumped by Joanne Dithers, had recently married a pretty Matt girl, and he was now the proud father of twin girls. Joanne Dithers had fallen in love and married Elder Roo, though six inches shorter than she. Elder Roo, VIN’s good friend, had partaken of a few beers with him for the first time in his life a week before the alien’s next visit, upon the birth of his son. The first boy to be born on Mars.
Mars Noble and Saturn Jones had gotten engaged the night before the visit, and even though it had been expected by all, there were several thick heads when the alarms went off.
VIN was off duty and by the pool when Captain Pete’s warning came over the intercom. The captain gave the location of five spacecraft this time, flying in a line and abreast of the lookout mountain. The craft were very low and seemed to be creeping along the surface of the planet at 200 knots without shields. Also, Captain Pete said that the craft were a couple of hours early, and would arrive at the base an hour or two before sunset. That gave them enough time to don suits, and America One to complete another orbit.
VIN rushed out first a few minutes in front of Commander Joot and Elder Roo. Ryan was next, and Vitaliy and Jonesy followed a few minutes behind. VIN’s men were already in their defensive positions, and the three inside guards were closing the two doors to the base.
“Thirty minutes to arrival. 1,000 feet above the surface, incoming from the south, very slow at 180 knots,” said Captain Pete aboard America One. He and Dr. Nancy were on their umpteenth honeymoon, as Jonesy put it. They had headed up for peace and quiet a week earlier, and there were four technicians and three scientists, including Mr. Rose aboard, who was producing the next liquid hydrogen and vintage wine for Christmas.
Fritz Warner, Allen and Jamie Saunders had just returned from the mother ship with two tons of hydrogen fuel earlier that morning, and the remnants were being transferred into the underground tanks.
“Jones crew, Saunders crew, Pitt crew, in the shuttle cockpits please, and warm up your thrusters,” said Ryan as a precaution.
“Eighteen minutes to arrival, 180 knots 500 feet above the crater lip above you, and they are spreading out,” added Captain Pete. “Three have broken off and seem to be heading north.”
“Thrusters active and warming, laser active,” said Jonesy ten minutes later.
“Two minutes to arrival. They are descending into the crater and will be approaching you from their usual position,” said Captain Pete a quarter of an hour later. “The other three alien ships seem to be circling about ten miles north of the crater.”
On cue, the two silver ships could be seen skimming the crater floor and coming in to take a look at the dozen shields in front of them.
There was a small area on the right hand side of the plateau that was not covered by the closest shields. It was about a quarter of an acre, and here supplies were offloaded and work done that didn’t need to be completed inside the shields. Here VIN’s robotic men lived and recharged themselves Ryan, Commander Joot, Elder Roo and VIN waited here hoping that one or both of the craft would land.
For an eerie minute, Ryan watched as the craft slowly edged forward. It was if the four men and the six robots were being scanned. The two ships identical to Commander Joot’s hovered at about 50 feet higher than the plateau and about 100 feet directly in front of Ryan. Ryan just stood there motionless, until he decided to point at the flat area in front of him, trying to show the craft that they had permission to land.
He could see the forward pilot, and it looked like he was dressed in a blue suit. Ryan remembered that the blue suits worn by the Matts weren’t good for space use, and he slowly walked through the wall of the closest shield, and then beckoned the visitors to park inside or outside.
Slowly, one of the two craft edged forward, as Ryan had his helmet unscrewed. Its forward area penetrated the shield and its rear thrusters stayed outside.
“Mr. Noble, Commander Joot, it seems that their suits aren’t suitable for non-atmospheric use,” said Ryan. “Somebody bring me two hand radios.”
“I was asked by the pilot if it is safe to land. They speak very different from us. I believe it is an old dialect of Matt. I asked him to land when he saw fit,” said Commander Joot through his suit’s intercom in English. He walked through the shield wall and asked VIN to remove his helmet.
VIN gave orders for the outer robots to hold their positions, they couldn’t enter the shields, and he ordered one of his robots guarding the doors to come forward. The inside soldier looked identical to the outside robots, except that his skin-looking suit surrounding his mechanics didn’t include the bulky Plutonium-powered backpack.
It seemed that telepathically speaking to the commander eased the visitor’s worry about the situation, as slowly the craft closed down its thrusters and one of the two pilots began readying to exit. There was no rush, it seemed, as Commander Joot said that there was a lot of dialogue going on among the pilots. He had heard five different voices.
“It seems that they are speaking to the other craft out there,” explained Joot to the others in English. “I believe this is not their commander. The voice with more authority is not in either of those two craft. The one which has landed has been given permission to talk to us.”
“I believe if I read the order more correctly, he is to figure us taller people out, and why our suits can be used outside the shields,” VIN added. “Joot’s helmet is now off. He is off the air. Orders to remove my helmet, Ryan?”
“Affirmative, mine is already off,” replied Ryan through his radio.
As a door beneath the craft opened under the cockpit area, Commander Joot removed VIN’s helmet, and then VIN watched, his radio at the ready. One small person squeezed out of the three-foot gap between the ground and the bottom of the ship, and hunched down, walked away from his ship. He stood up in his blue flight suit and gold-colored helmet and was no taller than Elder Roo, a few inches shorter than four feet. The rear pilot was still in his seat looking at the welcoming committee.
VIN asked Joot to relay to the visitor that it was safe to remove his helmet.
“VIN, Commander Joot, you can both talk to Elder Roo if there is a problem,” asked Ryan as the three helmetless men waited.
“There is much talking,” Commander Joot said as they waited. Slowly the visitor unhooked his helmet, the same way the Matts undid their helmets, and a very old looking Matt face looked back at the welcoming committee.
“Our Ruler is happy that you have used our ways of travel so well,” said the visitor with a different Matt accent than Ryan and VIN had been taught.
“Welcome to our home,” replied Ryan in Matt.
“Why are two of you so tall and so pale?” asked the old man.
“We are modern people from Earth,” and Ryan pointed at the object that was Earth above them in the black sky.
“These Tall People saved us from extinction on many planets,” added Commander Joot. “We have much to thank them for.” The visitor thought for a while then replied.
“Why have you moved to our planet? We have lived here for many generations and don’t like visitors. You must leave, tall white people. Our pure people only can stay. My Ruler has given me orders to make you leave or we will destroy your base.”
“But we come in peace,” said Ryan.
“We do not,” was the simple reply.
“And if we choose to stay here?” VIN asked.
“We have watched your modern people on Earth. You are not a happy people like our people we sent down to Earth many years ago.”
“We are from your tribe here on Mars?” asked Commander Joot, quite surprised.
“Of course you are. We needed to induce new blood and increase our population, but this planet doesn’t allow us to. So we sent ten of our finest people down to a green place on Earth. They didn’t survive, so we sent another ten. Your tribe commander, forefathers and mothers managed to survive, the tenth time we tried, and we then harvested your people as they populated the area.”
“What did you use them for?” Commander Joot asked. His face had gone pale and he was learning something his ancestors didn’t know.
“Simple, for breeding and for eating.”
“Why eating?” Joot asked in a whisper.
“We have always disposed of our old, sick and dying by eating them. Nothing must be wasted up here on the Red Planet. So we have developed a taste for eating. Even my body will be eaten when I die. It started many generations ago with one Ruler, long before you were transferred to the Blue Planet. Since then, our Rulers pick a young perfect person ten times in his lifetime for eating. It is his right, and we must produce the young people for the Ruler. That is why we populated the Blue Planet. Those people that already lived there didn’t taste correct. We have tried all the types of the two legged and four legged people from that planet. Only our type tastes perfect. We don’t even like to eat these tall white people. They taste very bad.”
“I hope so,” remarked VIN, disgusted.
“My Ruler will give you time to leave this planet, one time your blue planet gets close and then goes away. Until then, you need to give us four young pure people for our Ruler over that time, and four of your pure females for breeding. That is how we have always communicated with you. Today I will take two of each with me.”
“And if we don’t allow you to take our friends?” Ryan asked calmly.
“Then what we gave our people, the blue protections, the power systems, and everything you learned from us will be taken away from you. You and your base will slowly die, and your people will beg us to take them away from here. Now give me what I ask for and we will leave you alone.”
“We have our own spacecraft,” declared Ryan, pointing at his six craft. “We have our own power systems.”
“We are not interested in your weak spacecraft, or dangerous power systems. We are not interested in you, apart for leaving us in peace,” the small Matt replied. “We are only talking to our own people, and we take what is rightfully ours.”
“I don’t think so,” replied Ryan. Without a word, the Matt replaced his helmet, turned and walked back to his ship.
“Helmets on quickly,” ordered VIN. Something was tickling the hairs on his back. They scrambled to replace their helmets as the Matt walked slowly to his spacecraft, and the door to the Matt craft closed. The craft backed off through the blue shield and immediately it was outside; a bright red beam of light projected from the front of the second ship and the black box encased with a metal surface, and the ground thirty feet away from Ryan exploded with such ferocity that it blew the four men to the ground.
They had managed to screw on their helmets with seconds to spare as the shield disappeared around the fallen men, and the atmosphere inside turned into billions of bubbles escaping in all directions.
Jonesy was already leaving the third shield seventy feet away as a second bright red blast disintegrated the second shield. The other two shuttles rocked inside the explosion which halted their takeoffs.
“VIN, command your men, shoot down that alien craft before it destroys all our farms,” shouted Ryan weakly over the intercom, trying to get up.
“All robots, the visitors are destroying our shields, shoot before they deploy their shields,” shouted VIN as he went unconscious. Ryan had given the order, and now it seemed like warfare. All six of VIN’s robots fired at the second spacecraft, which seemed to hover for a moment unscathed as its outside skin sparkled like a diamond, then it simply crashed to the ground ten feet below it.
The first Matt craft turned and destroyed the third shield. Jonesy was only twenty or so feet above the exploding shield when Maggie fired the ship’s laser, and the Matt craft blew up as if it was filled with TNT. Again the explosion felled Ryan, who had just gained his feet, to the ground and lifted up SB-III like a leaf in the wind.
“Get back to the safety of the base; your suits could have holes in them,” shouted Igor from within the greenhouse and using a handheld. “Captain Pete, you have permission to fire at the others.”
The three shuttles lifted out of the crater unharmed, and with Jonesy in the lead, headed vertical.
“Three aliens two miles south and incoming rapidly to the base,” said Captain Pete. Jonesy thrust the shuttle to face south, and Maggie used the heat and infrared together, locked onto the closest ship and fired. At such close range, she couldn’t miss, but not before the alien ship blasted two more shields at the edge of the farm.
The other two shuttles were still climbing as three more shields erupted into millions of air bubbles. Maggie took out the lead craft.
The third incoming alien craft exploded a second later as America One locked onto it. It seemed that the visitors had certainly not bargained at being shot at from space, but were not yet done.
“Five more alien craft incoming from their base area,” said Captain Pete. “Heading through 20,000 feet, 10,000 knots, moving fast and heading straight for America One. ETA five minutes ten seconds, over.”
“Allen, Michael, we have to head them off,” shouted Jonesy over the intercom, and under full power, the three shuttles disappeared from the base area.
“Commencing laser fire at the incoming ships,” said Captain Pete.
“I have them visual 1,800 miles ahead climbing through 100,000 feet. I’m locked onto the lead spacecraft,” shouted Maggie.
“Fire!” commanded Jonesy and two lasers firings later blew the lead spacecraft into nothing, too far ahead of them to see it explode. The rest suddenly broke apart, and Captain Pete got one as they headed in all directions.
“SB-I, there are only three of the enemy left. Head down to the area we think they are based and circle in case more are launched, and don’t use your shield,” ordered Jonesy. “Captain Pete, close down your shield; that is what they are after.”
“Roger Jonesy, copy that, closing it down…no!” Suddenly, a massive explosion lit up the area where America One was orbiting. The explosion was so large, it could be seen from the base. It was like a bright star had suddenly appeared in the sky.
“America One, America One,” shouted Ryan over the radio as he keeled over ten feet from the nearest entrance into the atmospheric inner room. One of the inner robots grabbed him as he fell. Another was already carrying VIN while the third carried Elder Roo back to the outer hatch. Many of the crew were watching from inside and Igor electronically opened the outer hatch so that the three men could be placed into the docking port together. It closed, and Igor suddenly felt weak as he heard Jonesy shout over the radio that the mother ship was gone, Jonesy had hit one more, and Allen Saunders was after the last one.
“Crew, help them to the infirmary, now!” shouted Igor, and three men lifted the three bleeding bodies up as the inner hatch opened and ran with them to the medical center on the upper level.
“Ten more craft leaving the planet,” said Michael Pitt as his radar began showing ten blips heading up from an area twenty or so miles ahead of him. “I have an exact base location. Sending it now. Have one locked,” and Penny disintegrated the first alien craft at close range. Michael followed them up, Penny hitting one more before Jonesy and Allen swooped down from above two minutes later at full thrust. Allen was still following the original one from the last lot, and it disintegrated as Maggie hit the third of the ten climbing craft. That again sent them in all directions.
“America One is gone. They must be heading to our base, or are wanting our blood. Allen, head back and defend,” ordered Jonesy. “VIN, if you can hear me, get your guys ready to defend; incoming in about ten minutes. Michael, you and me on the attack,” SB-III swooped up as the same type of red beam suddenly lit up the cockpit from the ground and passed him by several feet from his starboard side.
“These guys have real weapons at their base. That was a laser blast or something. Shuttles, take precautionary action,” added Jonesy as Maggie locked onto an enemy craft 70 miles ahead, and nothing happened.
“That red beam has sucked our laser power. I can’t fire for 50 seconds. Powering up now,” said Maggie.
“Got one,” shouted Penny Pitt. She was good, Jonesy knew that. Penny Pitt was the best shot of all of them. “Got a second one…crap that red beam just missed us and took my laser power down, recharging.”
“Maggie?” shouted Jonesy to his copilot as he was catching up to three of the craft heading toward the base.
“Twenty seconds to power up,” she shouted back. “There goes that red flash again, aft of us. I think we are heading out of range. It took my power down again. Allen, they are coming to you. I have you on radar 100 miles ahead. Don’t let them blast you; they will take away your laser.”
There came an explosion twenty or so miles ahead as Jonesy pushed the throttles to absolute full power.
“Got one,” said Jamie. “Got a second. Damn, there was a red flash from the third. Just missed us, I have no laser power.”
“Three to go. I have one bogey on radar forty miles ahead and approaching our base from the south,” said Jonesy.
“Locked on, have to wait 7 more seconds,” added Maggie. Seven seconds to Jonesy was like eternity, but he kept up with the enemy craft. “Powered up, firing now.”
As the Matt craft fell apart on Maggie’s second shot, its red beam erupted from its nose, now only a few miles ahead, and one of the shields blew up on the base. Suddenly, two more erupted and a second craft disintegrated as it flew in from the north.
“VIN’s guys got one as it flew over,” shouted Fritz Warner into the base radio.
“Last one is mine, guys,” said Jamie Saunders as the last outside shield exploded, and so did the last alien craft, less than a mile south of the retreat.
The Martian Club Retreat, or what was left of it, suddenly went dark. Night had fallen on the whole area.
“State fuel reserves on shuttles immediately,” ordered Jonesy.
“SB-I still on half tanks,” reported Penny Pitt.
“SB-II same, just over half,” added Jamie.
“We have enough to return to the alien base. Let’s go!” replied Jonesy, and the three shuttles headed back.
“Ryan, VIN, you there?” asked Jonesy as he used his side thrusters to turn his shuttle into a 180 degree bank.
“Ryan is unconscious but alive, and VIN is the same. Both have bad skin injuries due to cut suits. Joot is dead, Roo is alive, just,” reported Fritz Warner.
Thirteen technicians, two females and three children dead down here on the mid-level. The power room holding the spare black boxes went up like an atomic explosion. The rock floors, metal doors and thick walls saved the rest of us on the other levels. What about the mother ship. We can’t get Captain Pete?” asked Igor in a high pitched voice.
“I think they got it,” replied Jonesy. “The shield must have exploded inside the ship. He was retracting it when we saw an explosion. They must have been sitting ducks up there. We don’t have enough fuel to get that high, so we are going to make sure that they don’t come back.”
“Any ideas, guys?” Allen Saunders asked as they flew into formation for the ten minute ride back to the alien base.
“Their ships would have been protected inside the blue shields,” said Maggie.
“Yes, I was thinking of that. I believe they can’t extend their own shields and use that red laser, or whatever is was,” added Penny Pitt.
“That’s right, they couldn’t protect themselves and fire their weapon at the same time. Just like we can’t fire our lasers inside the shields.”
“Most probably a maser,” said Mars Noble over the radio and from the base. “Be careful, that maser could take you out if it gets near your black boxes.”
“Their weapon seems to target the energy of the boxes, active or not active,” added Igor. “It went in directly to our power room.”
“Go on,” demanded Jonesy. “What the hell is a maser?”
“A maser is a device for the creation, amplification, and transmission of an intense, highly focused beam of high-frequency radio waves,” added Mars. “Igor, go on?”
“Yes, a maser works like a microwave oven. Maser stands for ‘Microwave Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation.’ Maser waves are much closer to an ideal single-frequency source than those of ordinary radio transmitters. As a result, the maser output can be transmitted over fairly large distances with relatively little loss. I can only assume that the red you are seeing is its strength, and it works totally differently from a laser.”
“So we must just stay away from it,” Jonesy asked. “I need to know what we are working with here. Five minutes to attack.”
“I would assume by what you told me that an active shield would attract the maser beam by its energy field, like lightning. Hopefully your closed shields aren’t as attractive, or you would be all fried. Don’t use your shields,” Igor responded.
“I don’t think their red beam can be as accurate without the attraction of the deployed shields,” added Mars Noble.
“I think you’re right. America One was thousands of miles away when it was hit,” Jonesy replied. “Guys, we must be in enemy territory, so spread out like we do on Earth. Let’s flatten the area around where the red beams come from.”
The first red beam came up to them at the speed of light and missed all the shuttles by a mile. It did take out all their laser power though. Jonesy told them to split up and keep at least ten miles between them.
The second red beam from the same place passed by SB-III 30 seconds later. By the time the third beam lit up SB-III and closed down Maggie’s laser for the third time, Penny Pitt was far enough away to keep her power and with one blast directly where the red beam had come from, a massive explosion suddenly turned the night into day for miles around.
For the first time in his life Jonesy saw the mushroom of what looked like a nuclear explosion 15,000 feet below them. Immediately all three shuttles headed away under full throttle.
“Climb, climb! That thing is massive down there,” shouted Jonesy as his radio went into static.
Jonesy pushed his thruster throttles as hard forward as he could and the hydrogen thrusters took them into space. “Maggie, deploy our shield,” he ordered as the blast of energy climbed faster than they were and was rapidly catching up.
The blue shield grew around them as they climbed and suddenly they felt heavy Gees in their back as the energy belt hit them. The pain in the back was as bad as Jonesy remembered on the old hydrogen pulse thrusters they had used decades earlier, as he fought the shuttle to keep it in a straight line. “You won’t believe this, but our forward speed is climbing 27,000 knots at 120,000 feet, from 10,000 knots at 70,000 feet a few seconds ago.
“Ours too; we have our shield extended and have been thrown around like a baseball in here,” Jonesy heard Allen Saunders shout.
“Pitt, Michael Pitt, are you still alive?” asked Jonesy.
“Affirmative, I think. We were heading away from the blast at full power and Penny extended the shield as soon she saw that mushroom thing. It seems the radios work inside our shields.”
“Copy that, Michael. Good shot, Penny! Glad everybody is alive; the energy blast has passed us, and the explosion is gone. I think it’s time to go home. Our fuel is low. I don’t think any Martians survived that blast down there. SB-III to Mars base do you copy?”
“Mars base to SB-III, what the hell was that, an earthquake? This whole place rattled worse than somebody trying to shake us apart. Two people had shelves fall on them but we are okay, over,” said Mars Noble.
Chapter 21
What Now?
Both Dr. Walls and Dr. Rogers were working on Ryan in the operating theater when the astronauts, now with spacesuits to exit their craft, entered through the docking ports one by one. The refueling technicians, twelve of them, were already suited up and outside under Mars Noble’s orders, ready to refuel the shuttles as they came in. The robots had been automated and had placed themselves over the plateau, ready for a second attack.
Jonesy was happy to see the three mining craft undamaged and standing in their row, but now without the protection of the shields.
There wasn’t one shield left outside on the plateau and fields, and that meant all their crops, all five acres of them, were gone. So was the mother ship. The vacuum of space had retaken all the work the biology team had spent over a decade nurturing and growing, apart from the young plants in the greenhouses inside the chamber. In three short hours, the short Martian history books had changed forever.
Slowly, glum faces entered the debriefing room as they changed out of their suits.
Inside the chamber, the top level was a mess. There were broken shelves and supplies from the earthquake everywhere. The blast was far away, but many mentioned that it was as powerful as anything they had felt on Earth.
The second level, where the black boxes had been stored, was completely blackened and buckled and looked like a raging inferno had gone through. There were charred remains of bodies in a line, and the astronauts began looking for their loved ones. The broken and bent doors down to the new lower chamber had just been opened, and there Jonesy found Saturn who was tending to bleeding children. Down on this level there had been no deaths, and all the children and people not needed upstairs had taken cover with the NextGen astronauts in charge.
Jonesy and Maggie hugged Saturn, then headed back up to the top level to the operating theater. It was closed, and Lieutenant Walls, armed, stood outside.
“Sorry, Jonesy. The doctors don’t want to be disturbed. VIN looks like he’ll make it. One of his arms looked pretty blackened from the loss of atmosphere out there. Ryan the same. Elder Roo looks the worst. I was told they should all make it, and I will give you any news once I get it.”
As the adrenaline subsided in the astronauts, reality came back as they headed for the briefing room.
“There is no hole in the wall, so how did the three spare black boxes get hit?” Jonesy asked Igor as the last two astronauts entered.
“The maser radio frequency can penetrate walls without leaving a hole,” replied Igor. “The two children were standing right in the line of fire and were cooked as black as meat can be microwaved. They were young Jacob Rogers and his new wife, who we believe were heading up to help in the medical unit. Dr. and Nurse Martha don’t know yet.”
Jonesy noticed that Igor was disheveled and most of his body was blackened.
“You okay, Igor?’ he asked.
“Me? Sure. I was down on the mid-level trying to see who had perished, and I was helping find the bodies. Mars Noble was very glum in the command center.”
It wasn’t good news with the dead. Max Burgos and three of the design technicians were killed. So was Hans Smidt and his new wife. The aging head of many departments, Dr. Martha Von Zimmer, and one of her team were also killed in the blast.”
“Where is Suzi?” asked Maggie, suddenly sick to her stomach.
“She was helping control the children. I have seen her. She is a mess but okay,” replied Igor. “What happened to Captain Pete?”
Jonesy told him what he knew, and everybody was quiet for several seconds, the shock of the loss of the mother ship slowly sinking in.
“It seems we have lost all of our food production,” Jamie Saunders added quietly.
“Yes, about 90 percent,” replied Igor. “The chickens and rabbits are fine, but there is no way we can survive with just the greenhouses inside the cavern. We have less than three month’s supply of vegetables in storage. And our liquid hydrogen manufacture is now virtually non-existent, kaput.” That made the briefing room silent for a long time.
“We still have three shields,” suggested Jonesy.
“Yes, that’s right,” replied Igor, the shock of the attack dulling his thinking. “We will have to get them out there once the shuttles are refueled. Hopefully the soil isn’t ruined. Not my area of knowledge.”
After twenty minutes, the official list of the dead was complete. They had lost many of the best.
Captain Pete and Dr. Nancy were gone. So was Mr. Rose, three of his team and seven of the technicians in charge of hydrogen fuel production. Thirteen crewmembers had gone up in the mother ship.
In the base, there were sixteen charred bodies, and Commander Joot, killed outside in the first blast. He had been the closest to the red beam as the blast had destroyed the first shield. Max Burgos was gone, and the team manufacturing the robots. Dr. Martha and Hans Smidt were dead, two of the best scientists on the base, and that really would hurt production. There weren’t many of the best left, as Dr. Petra Bloom had died a year or more before the attack.
The briefing ended with the message that the shuttles would be refueled within three hours. Jonesy suggested that at least one crew would stand guard in one of the shuttles for a 24-hour period. He and Maggie would be first, and his black box be taken out and placed where the first shield had blown up. Igor and Mars Noble headed toward the infirmary to give the medical team the bad news.
The only good bit of news came from the outer greenhouse two hours later. There was just enough stored atmospheric air in the tanks for one shield, and production in the upper level could soon start for a second one, once the necessary water was collected.
Jonesy and Maggie were glum when they boarded SB-III. They had seen the despair of Nurse Martha and then Dr. Rogers on learning about the loss of her only son. The medical team had worked for two hours before anybody was allowed in to tell them.
Saturn and Mars helped set up the shield in spacesuits, as soon as the shield and its power unit had been retrieved from underneath SB-III. Once the atmosphere was released into the shield, they climbed in through SB-III’s docking port and were helped off with their suits.
“News from the doctors,” Saturn said as Jonesy noticed that Mars Noble was again rather withdrawn. Jonesy thought the worst.
“Ryan is alive, but has been induced into a coma for now. He has lost his left arm halfway between the elbow and shoulder. It seems his suit was completely torn down his left arm. He will recover, and Kathy and the girls are with him.”
“And my partner?” Jonesy asked, his face pale.
“Alive, and much the same. He has also lost his left arm, same place. It seems that they were at the same angle to the red blast,” replied Mars quietly. “Elder Roo has lost both his left leg and left arm, and we think he was standing closer to the blast, his small body shielding Ryan and my dad. Commander Joot was a blackened mess, and Dr. Rogers believes his death was instantaneous and he felt no pain, the same as the others. The Rogers have been told, and are in their apartment. Dr. Walls is still monitoring the three injuries.”
“Your father is one tough SOB, Mars,” Jonesy said, seeing the pain in the young man’s eyes. “He is half metal anyway. Give him a few months and he will be three-quarters metal, and exactly the same person he always was.”
“Dad!” scolded Saturn. Maggie looked at her daughter.
“Your father knows VIN better than anybody here. If he isn’t worried about his partner, then none of us need to be. Mars, how is Suzi?”
“She is a little messed up, but by Dad’s bed. He hasn’t regained consciousness yet. Igor and Vitaliy are already in the robotics lab. They are with three of the older-generation technicians who worked on Dad and Mom’s legs in Nevada. They reckon that they could have three new arms and a leg for Roo within a year.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Maggie replied. “Suzi and your father were the luckiest two when they got their new legs in Nevada. I remember them clowning about and running rings around us like a couple of kids on the running mornings. Your father and Suzi were the two that made up my mind to stay.”
“Me too,” added Jonesy quietly.
For the next two days the base did its best to get through the grieving, and get itself back into shape. The crewmembers were buried next to Mr. and Mrs. Jones, and 48 hours after the attack, and using as little fuel as they could, SB-II and SB-III headed over to where the massive explosion had taken place.
A new crater over 300 feet deep and ten miles across covered the location. The radiation levels were extremely high, higher than the outside shuttle meters had ever recorded. Even hovering a few feet above the ground, nothing of interest could be seen bigger than sharp metal strips inches thick.
The area around the new crater for 20 miles was littered with rocks and metal debris, and no movement or life could be seen. Igor reckoned that nothing within a fifty mile area would have survived, even underground, unless it was a metal robot, and even then its circuits should have been fried.
There was no more visits from aliens and over the following weeks the base returned to its previous calm.
Two of the three shields were up, and thanks to Suzi and her crew, new sprouts came through the soil in the first shield after four weeks. The produce seemed to be fine, but had a slight extra radiation count to it. Something Igor said was harmless to the growing plants, and much like the first shields, would decrease to nothing over a few months.
The injured were looked after and stayed in the hospital ward. They were visited daily by everybody and became the center attraction. Everyone missed friends or relatives, and during this time of need Elder Roo’s wife, Joanne Dithers Roo, looked after many, doing her best to keep a smile on many faces. She was pregnant, and her rosy face seemed a picture of health. That alone kept Elder Roo alive.
Everybody changed in different ways, and it was only a month later, once Ryan was out of his coma and could walk, that the first briefing was held by the entire crew.
The whole crew could see that the news of the loss of so many friends and his beloved ship, America One, had hurt Ryan badly. He took the deaths hard, and for the first few days after regaining consciousness refused any visitors.
Ryan was a mess, and the doctors kept him sedated. Many good friends, and a lifetime of work by hundreds of clever people, had been destroyed in a three hour battle. He blamed himself entirely for letting it all happen. He wanted to go home; he thought that his dream was over, and that they wouldn’t easily survive on Mars for very much longer.
“Igor, Boris, where do we stand as far as returning to Earth with our emergency craft?” was Ryan’s first question of the briefing. Everybody was in the large chamber on the upper level.
“Current population, 213 crewmembers,” said Igor. “We can leave for Earth with supplies aboard the six ships during the next opposition with a maximum of 190 personnel in 22 months’ time. We have just missed the most recent orbital opposition, and with the next one comes our old friend DX2017 as a backup vehicle five weeks before we must need leave Mars for Earth.”
“Are you saying what I’m thinking?” asked Ryan.
“Cryogenic chambers for 12, and I’m praying for more, aboard the Matt base on DX2017, yes, Ryan,” added Boris. “There is no other choice. We have five current pregnancies. I gave orders two weeks ago that we cannot handle more babies. Even with our current numbers, we are over our possible limits, now with the loss of America One.”
“With a few repairs to the door on DX2017, and full nitrogen tanks from the cryogenic chambers here,” said VIN, “we could take two crewmembers out of the cramped quarters in each of the six craft on the way home. 24 would be better.”
Ryan looked at VIN questioningly.
“Ryan, Roo said that he thinks there could be another 12 cabinets on the little planet. He thinks he remembers two sets, one below the other, and their latest Ruler and his craft is supposed be up there somewhere.” Roo, tied down and sitting in a wheelchair, nodded.
“And hopefully another blue shield or two,” added Igor.
“Food supplies and fuel until we leave?” Ryan asked, turning to Suzi.
“We can survive just, if everybody eats meat again. Vegetarians or vegans will die. There isn’t enough,” said Suzi sitting next to her husband.
“No more vegetarians, huh?” smiled Ryan for the first time since he had left the hospital ward.
“Nein, not until we get enough atmosphere for three shields, and that could take more years than we are here. I believe we as a crew can survive with the production from inside the chamber and from one shield for now, but it is going to be extremely difficult,” Suzi replied.
“What are we going to run out of?” was Ryan’s next question to Suzi.
“All luxuries, and about half of our green produce and fruits. As you know, most of the vines and older fruit trees as well as the coffee and cocoa trees were aboard the mother ship. We luckily had one young plant of each down here in our greenhouses. We will have no more wine, coffee, or chocolate once our supplies end in about three months, and until the new plants and trees are ready to produce in about a year. We have our beer equipment down here, so at least we can all survive on a liquid diet. We have eggs and salads, chicken and rabbits, onions and garlic, carrots and beets. We have the very basics, but the truth is, we will not be happy here once we lose all the little luxuries we cherish so much. Herr Richmond, we need to return to Earth and build a new America One.”
“Not in my lifetime,” Ryan replied sadly, facing the truth.
“Maybe in mine,” said Mars Noble, and Ryan gave him a slight smile and a nod of approval for his comment.
“Mine too,” added his daughter Lunar, and the crew gave them applause.
“Fuel reserves, Vitaliy,” Ryan asked, once the crew had quietened down.
“Six tons of liquid hydrogen, and 106 gallons of alcohol,” said Vitaliy. “Since both Matt craft were destroyed with America One, Elder Roo doesn’t need the 106 gallons, and many of us will be happy to share it with Jonesy.”
There was not as much laughter as usual, but Jonesy managed a smile, winking at his partner. VIN was in much the same shape as Ryan. He looked pale and thin, and was still recuperating.
Vitaliy continued. “We need close to four of the six tons for our journey home, one ton of fuel reserved to reach DX2017 and back, and one ton of fuel to fetch water. That gives us nothing spare, except what we can produce down here. We have a very limited laboratory set up to manufacture liquid hydrogen on the upper level, and can produce the fuel at the rate of 40 to 50 gallons a month. It will take us more than two years to fill up one of our shuttles. And we will have to collect water at least twice a year. We can manufacture oxygen from the water so we will never run out of air, and thanks to the Cold Fusion plants down here we have enough power to keep us alive for generations. Luckily we retrieved the plant from the mother ship as backup, thank God. Liquid nitrogen: we have ample supplies; the same with liquid helium, as we stored them down here for the cryonic chambers. Any more information I cannot give you right at this moment.”
“How can that second Cold Fusion plant help us here on Mars?” Ryan asked.
“It can’t, but I believe it will become very useful back on Earth one day,” replied Vitaliy.
“Igor, other supplies?” asked Ryan, nodding at Vitaliy’s answer.
“A bad list, I’m afraid. We lost three quarters of our 3-D printers, scanners, production equipment and machine tools aboard America One. We are not 100 percent self-sufficient anymore in engine part manufacture, and we need to resupply ourselves from Earth as soon as possible. We have limited amounts of cobalt and nickel to make thruster replacement parts, but we cannot manufacture everything. As far as I’m concerned, we should leave Mars at our first opportunity.”
“But we can’t all leave,” questioned Ryan.
“We can if we wait for DX2017 to swing by again,” said Igor. “Boss, I’m sure we can squeeze in a few more children into the shuttles if we need to. Ryan, we have two years to plan this. I’m over 60, you have had your 60th birthday, and Jonesy is even older than we are. VIN, Fritz, Vitaliy and several others will be 60 before we reach Earth again. Chances are many of us could be closer to 70 or even 80 before we see the blue planet again if something drastic goes wrong down here. Six of the oldest scientists might not even make the time span to see Earth again. Our oldest person here is 82, and I’m sure might outlive all of us, but what I’m saying is we need a plan, and much of my plan will naturally fall into place before we leave.”
“Or we could be found by a new race of Earthlings lying here in 24 frozen coffins 10,000 years from now, like we found the Matts. History, I was taught at school, has a habit of repeating itself,” added Jonesy.
“Thank you, Jonesy; you are correct,” continued Igor. “On the other hand we only need something very small to go wrong, and then it could be decades before we find that island the Australians promised us.”
“Okay, then who goes into the cryogenic chambers on DX2017?” Ryan asked. Nobody said a word.
“Who wants to go fishing?” Jonesy asked a minute later, and several of the older crew put their hands up. “Next question. Old people only. Who wants to go fishing while they are in their 60s?” Again most of the older astronauts and crew put their hands up. “Now, the big question of the day. Those oldies like me, does 60s or late 70s or even late 80s sound better to go fishing?”
“60s!” said many.
“I think we have just answered the question who gets frozen,” Jonesy said smiling. “The fishermen and their women.”
“But we can’t freeze our astronauts. Who will fly us home?” questioned Ryan.
“You will have enough astronauts once we have completed our training,” piped up a young female voice from the front row. Ryan was shocked to see that his second daughter Pluto Katherine, now 13, was the voice.
“I don’t get it,” replied Ryan. He felt dizzy and was helped to sit down. He was certainly not yet a fit man.
“Dad, the Second Astronaut Group are in our second year of simulator astronaut training. Shelly Saunders, Hillary Pitt, me, Jane and Jenny Burgos, and now Joanne Dithers Roo, who joined us a year ago, will be competent astronauts in 24 months’ time. With Saturn, Mars, Penelope and Pluto Jane Saunders as our instructors from next year, you will have the best astronauts ever.”
“Sorry, sweetheart, I wasn’t thinking clearly,” replied Ryan, holding a hand to his head. The entire crew could see that he was not well. “Igor is still in command until I am fully recovered. So I’ll sit down and let Igor and Mars Noble lead us back home. Sorry, all,” said the owner of Astermine, and he was helped by Kathy and Maggie to sit down in the front row with his family.
Chapter 22
Cryogenics on DX2017
It took a year for Ryan Richmond to become himself again. It seemed that the planet Mars didn’t have the same healing powers as Earth. Everyone worried about the enemy returning. Nobody knew, or had enough fuel to head out and make sure the enemy Matts were gone.
Discussions and prayers headed up every night from many asking for protection. It was stressful times, at least until the next storm arrived. The storms would protect them from attack.
The luxury supplies were rationed from a three month supply to nearly a year’s. Only the alcohol produced for the Matt craft lasted more than a full year from that meeting, and for months Jonesy, Elder Roo, VIN and Ryan, enjoyed the nectar supplied at one gallon per month only. Often, Jonesy mentioned that Elder Roo should return to his old habits and not partake, which would leave more for the rest of them Homo sapiens.
Many now felt like they had been in a shipwreck and were lost at sea in a rowboat as the supplies diminished. First it was the chocolate: the last handed out to everybody was Mr. Rose’s stock on base, the stack he had cherished and hidden away. Then the coffee ran out, which led many to consume more alcohol as a replacement, until the wives took over command of The Martian Club Retreat nine months after the attack and banned the substance for six months. Still, the worry of an invading army was on everybody’s mind.
Elder Roo, Ryan and VIN received their new state-of-the-art Martian prosthetics eleven months after the attack. These were as good as VIN’s legs, and once whole again, the three men began to regain their normal states of mind. VIN worked hard with his robots outside, always at the ready for the attack that never came.
Igor, Boris, Mars Noble and the aging Fritz Warner ran the base like an army camp, once the wives had given back control, after allowing alcohol consumption over the second Christmas.
Elder Roo was promoted to Commander Roo. He would have been made Ruler Roo by the pure Matt population, but a Ruler could possibly be alive on DX2017.
Half of the children’s education had been lost by the death of many of the instructors, so added lessons were given in the fields still available.
Fuel for the Second Astronaut Group’s flights tests was their main problem. There wasn’t enough to complete more than an hour or two on their designated craft. All the astronauts, now nearly 20 in number, needed frequent practice, and Jonesy found himself always in the copilot seat, or often in the rear jump seats of SB-III as he trained the youngsters. Water collection missions twice a year were the only times many of the astronauts got flight time. They all went with, cramming the cockpits five at a time to see and learn from the pilots lucky enough to fly the ships.
Suzi and her team worked around the clock to produce enough vegetables and meat for everyone. They weren’t making it, and it was necessary to increase the water collection to produce the atmosphere for the second shield.
It took 18 months after the attack before the second shield was ready to be primed to produce food. By this time, the food stocks were at minimum, and rations of two meals per day the norm for everyone.
Igor made sure that the crafts’ emergency supplies weren’t touched for the flight home one day.
As the time to departure neared, many began to get excited to return to Earth. Three of the oldest members passed away, giving more food to the rest, but in turn these scientists were as important in the production of the base, as much as the food they saved.
Four of the five babies were born, all girls, and one was stillborn. Even though the population had increased by only one baby, it was an important factor in the food supply.
DX2017 was a month away when Igor readied the 25 crewmembers who would be taken up to spend 13 years in the cryogenic chambers as the small planet wended its way around the solar system to arrive close back to Earth to end their journey. Twelve were certain sleepers, the rest if they found more cabinets below the first level.
“The Parents’ Planet,” as DX2017 was now nicknamed, would be the transportation system for all the older parents to return to Earth, to return to fishing in their 60s, as Jonesy had so eloquently put it. Jonesy called it the “Planet for the Aged” and actually looked forward to his 13 years of sleep. So did Maggie and several of the others. Ryan and Kathy were in the second group, with Igor and Vitaliy, as were Dr. Martin and Nurse Martha Rogers.
For the last year, the NextGen leaders of The Martian Club Retreat were schooled in survival and went through hours of repeated instruction on the courses of Earth, Mars, DX2017 orbits, and timings needed for delivery and collection of their parents. Plus, they had to learn from Commander Roo what he could read from the Inventor chests about the workings on DX2017, and to make sure that everything was packed properly so that the most important Inventor papyrus leaves had a chance to arrive back to Earth safely.
Reentry into Earth’s atmosphere was one of the main lessons. Once the NextGen left Mars, there was no going back. It was “Earth or Bust,” and with only three shields, four if they collected one from the Matt craft still in one of the caverns on DX20217, each one was needed for the mining ships that hadn’t been designed to return to Earth. That meant the three shuttles might need to reenter the old-fashioned way and be totally unprotected if the attack cubes were out and about in Low Earth Orbit again.
Everyone hoped and prayed that the three shields protecting the freighters circling Earth would still be intact. The shuttles could use those, but nobody could know that until they reached the blue planet and were either attacked or not by cubes. It would have been so much easier if they had communications with Earth, but it was not available, and nobody had been contacted on earth once the mother ship had headed through the 1 million mile barrier.
The days began to drag. Production of air ceased once the second shield was filled. It had taken 18 months of work, and they hoped to harvest the first crops before DX2017 was visited.
Mars Noble made a suggestion that saved many of the crew’s lives. At the time, it was just a suggestion. He thought it a good idea to use some of the valuable fuel to do two extra water trips. The reason was that some of them were working on a second hydrogen-fuel-making laboratory, and with more water, they could increase the production of fuel for the five weeks between visiting DX2017 and the departure of the rest of the crew.
Igor and Ryan didn’t see a need for more water. It seemed a waste of precious fuel, and five weeks could only produce 100 maybe 200 gallons, about the same fuel it would take to retrieve the water.
VIN, Boris and Jonesy were on Mars’s side. The young man was now an adult, ready to marry Saturn Jones, but they, as well as many others, had elected to wait and get married on Earth, not in space. They couldn’t have children for a while anyway, so there was not a big rush to marry. VIN thought that extra water was always a good idea. He had often learned the lesson of water while as a Marine in the desert of Iraq many years earlier.
Jonesy thought that every hour of flight for four of the new astronauts was important, and for two months Igor, who was still in charge of the base, refused to allow the waste of fuel.
Finally, Ryan made the decision, under pressure from his family to override Igor, explaining to his best friend that within a few months young Mars Noble and Lunar Richmond would be in command of the base while the old people slept on DX2017 and he thought it prudent to allow them to lead, and make some decisions.
Four tons of water was collected from the deep crater. It was climbing out of the high crater walls and over the lip of the deep crater that a storm was seen following the two craft. Jonesy was, as usual, in SB-III’s copilot seat, and one of the Burgos daughters was having her 30 minutes of flight practice, when out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a dust cloud out of the side window.
“SB-II, we have our old friend back, the storm. Increase speed to 3,000 knots and increase cruise height to 10,000 feet, over.”
“Copy that,” replied young Pluto Katherine, flying the second ship under Allen Saunders’s exacting eyes.
They rose and headed back to base. Jonesy began to worry. This storm was different. It was still following them and actually rose higher than their 10,000 foot altitude. He ordered both craft in formation to complete a 360 degree turn to starboard, and they were shocked to see the extent of the dust cloud about 100 miles behind them. It seemed to cover the whole planet.
“SB-III to base, we have a storm following us. A doozy. I suggest you move all craft and equipment possible into the atmospheric shields. Winds look over 500 miles an hour, height of storm 12,000 feet. I’ve never seen anything like this one.”
“Roger, thanks for the advanced warning,” replied Boris, who was on the radio. They had prepared all the craft for departure. The other four craft had their belly cargo pods on and looked like beached whales. Jonesy knew that the three mining craft were inside the third shield. There was room for SB-II and SB-III in one of the two shields, and their pods could be moved by a dozen crewmembers with the light gravity. They needed to be inside the atmospheric shields for the crews to work on them without having to wear spacesuits. That was a waste of air. Their pods were on trolleys ready to attach them back to the two returning shuttles. With 600 miles to go, there was enough time to prepare for a windstorm.
The base had gone through many storms, and thanks to still having the three shields, everything that would have been damaged outside was protected by the shields. Also, without the early warnings from America One anymore, the crew was prepared for swiftness if a storm neared. Two of the cameras, from the last visit to the Israelis, had been placed on top of the crater directly above the base and gave them about 30 minutes warning of any approaching storm.
By the time the young pilots brought the two shuttles in, they were directed to land right on top of the new vegetables in Shield Two.
Most storms blew themselves out within a week or two, and the legs of the shuttles didn’t hurt the plants any more than the thrusters on light thrust. Two months had been the longest dust storm to date, and through that one two years earlier, the base still had scratchy communications with America One.
At that time, the mother ship had explained to them that the storm was like a hurricane that just didn’t move, was centered 100 or so miles to their west, and just swirled week after week. The physics team had decided that it was due to a possible sun flare, or a physical blast from the sun that had formed the storm.
After dark, the latest storm hit, and this time it was felt as it tore the areas outside the shields apart. Jonesy had been about right; the winds were about 500 miles an hour. After several minutes, they lost the camera view from above and the crew hunkered down to spend a week or two in a dust storm.
“Dr. Rogers, please give us your latest findings on how to freeze us old people, who are part mechanical, part human, into cryogenic sleep for thirteen years,” said Ryan the next morning of the doctor over a parsley and mint tea. The astronauts, and the group of people who had accepted the possibility of cryogenic sleep, were together to learn about what they were about to go through.
The coffee was gone, every bean of it, and it was nothing more than a fond memory in Ryan’s mind. So was his left arm a fond memory, which still felt like it was still there every now and again. He now knew how VIN had felt getting his new legs all those years ago, and now the poor guy was virtually three quarters metal.
“Most of what we have learned was given to us by our good friend Dr. Nancy before she died aboard America One,” he began. “As many of us know, it is the freezing of the human body extremely fast to extremely low temperatures. Dr. Nancy and I spoke extensively to every one of the Matts we saved from the cabinets around the solar system, and they all gave us the same descriptions. First of all, the human body can only do it once in a lifetime. The Matts learned that pretty quickly, so don’t get hooked on wanting to try it again. We expect to be woken close to Earth in 13 years, 47 days and 12 hours from when we open the nitrogen tanks aboard DX2017. Martha and I will be also sleeping with you guys. Our younger members, Dr. Walls and several assistants are being prepped to bring us out of our cryogenic sleep. As the Matts have perfected, and thanks to those aliens we destroyed a while ago, long-term cryopreservation, the correct description, can be achieved by cooling our bodies to near 77.15 Kelvin, the boiling point of liquid nitrogen. The Matt technique, as we have seen researching the systems we can understand, is virtually flawless. Each one of us will be given a sedative. A powerful sedative that will slow our bodies down in breathing and heartbeat to near death levels. Once that is attained, our noses, throat and ears will be plugged. Don’t worry, you won’t notice it. A strong dose of pure oxygen is piped into the lungs just before the throat and nose plugs are inserted.
“This gives the body and the team seven minutes to get the body down to the cold conditions, where further oxygen intake is unnecessary by the body for survival. We give you the pure oxygen, the plug is inserted, the lid of the cabinet closes and the large button on the control panel, or on the cabinet itself, is pressed. Our tests show that the cabinet reaches freezing in 5 seconds and what we call cryonic freezing in three minutes. So the whole process takes about three of the seven minutes.”
“Sounds chilly,” said Jonesy. Dr. Rogers smiled.
“To return the body to temperature, several changes take place, and lastly, the whole cabinet vibrates, which we believe makes sure that no two cells are stuck together, the veins and arteries around the entire body are open and that the heart begins to circulate blood again. What happens below minus 100 degrees Celsius we cannot tell, except that if left alone, the system returns the body from 77.15 Kelvin to normal body temperature automatically. For the last couple of minutes, the body goes through certain wakening shocks, like the vibrating, until the cabinet slides out of the wall area and the top part of the cabinet pops open. We had several of the children walk out of the chamber by themselves. It is possible to reach in and take your throat plug out by yourselves. The same with your nose and ear plugs. They told us that they were taught this in case there was nobody there when they awoke. So y’all will be taught the same way.”
“How cold is 77 Kelvin?’ asked Maggie.
“In Celsius, minus 196 degrees; Fahrenheit, minus 321 degrees, Maggie,” Dr. Rogers replied.
“That is cold,” remarked Jonesy.
“And don’t try to take a jug of alcohol with you, Jonesy,” joked the good doctor. “It is far too cold to try and drink it on your journey.”
“The Matt chambers are only five feet long. How are us taller guys going to fit?” asked VIN. “And will Ryan’s and my mechanical legs and arms still work?”
“Two good questions, VIN. We have studied all your bodies. For anybody over five feet tall and under five feet eleven inches, we will be placed on our backs as the others, but with our knees bent and our feet placed below our buttocks. There is enough room for our bent knees between the sleeping area and the top door of the cabinet, one exact foot. We even squashed Jonesy into one of the chambers down here, and he is the only one that has to be positioned lying on his right side with his lower legs bent behind his upper legs. Dr. Walls will arrange his legs and everybody else’s legs once we are under medication and our legs are soft and supple. A tight squeeze for some, yes, but we have no choice.
“VIN, we have already tested your arms before we gave them to you. The mechanics and lithium batteries worked perfectly, except that the batteries will need an immediate charge when Dr. Walls brings you and Ryan round. We needed to modify the skin layer, as it became brittle once it was warmed up again. Any special instructions will be placed if necessary on each chamber.”
“We must have speeded up the system when we brought Commander Roo and Tow back to life,” said VIN. “That only took three hours.”
“Yes, there are two timing systems that can be activated,” replied Dr. Rogers. “If the system senses that something is wrong, or it is being tampered with from outside, it has an emergency three-hour mode. All we can suggest is that it is an emergency release system, and is far more dangerous to attempt than the correct twelve-hour sequence of returning one to the present.”
For many it was fascinating. For Jonesy, he wondered what he had to go through just to be young enough to go fishing. He should have stayed with Bob Mathews.
The storm went on and on. Thanks to the natural light spectrum of the shield walls, the crops grew better than if they were in the weak Martian sunlight. The crew stayed fit and waited. They watched movies for the umpteenth time, and every way possible was thought out to give substance to every day the storm continued.
A month passed, then two. The time to meet DX2017 was nearing, and hydrogen fuel was produced as fast as the two liquid hydrogen plants could make it.
As the storm went into its third month, Ryan began to worry about losing the window of opportunity to reach DX2017. With the limited fuel reserves, even though they now had a little extra, there wasn’t much wiggle room.
It wasn’t hard to want to be back on Earth, and the loss of his beloved dream with his ship had changed Ryan more than his crew realized. Soldiers say that every man can be broken, and Ryan was pretty close to that point. Even though he had a perfect family, a beautiful wife, and two perfect and beautiful young female astronauts as daughters, something inside him was missing. Maybe it was the will to go on, or just that apart from family life there wasn’t any fire flaring up in the hearth inside him anymore.
Jonesy was waiting. The death of both his parents had changed him as well. Like Ryan, he had a beautiful family, more than he had ever imagined possible in his life. Maybe it was the alcohol meant for the Matt craft, or what, but his fire would never die. He just wanted to go fishing, and daily wondered how his buddy Bob Mathews was doing.
VIN was VIN. His ideas about life didn’t change much. He was one of those guys that could always see the good in life, no matter what, and shook it by the throat. The only two things eating into the Marine were aging and the continuous loss of body parts.
His new arm was strong. Left-handed, he could arm wrestle anybody, even his son who was growing stronger by the day. He became an expert in chess during the four month, three week, two day storm, beating Suzi, who used to nail his Queen every game. The connection to his new mechanics still tingled, and sometimes he woke up during the sleep periods thinking that his arm was back, somehow tied onto his upper arm. When this happened he usually went back to sleep smiling. His legs had done the same for years.
Chapter 23
DX2017
Finally it happened. One day there was a dust storm, and one day there wasn’t. The storm had gone, and the sun could be seen through the shields as the biologists and gardeners went out to tend the two shield gardens.
Many breathed sighs of relief, as they still had a five-day window to leave the red planet to catch DX2017, which had already gone past and was slowly orbiting away toward Jupiter and Saturn. Ryan gave orders to leave within six hours.
The departing crew were ready. They had been for weeks now. SB-III as usual was the elected craft, its belly pod already affixed, and Jonesy’s pregnant-looking shuttle looked large and ungainly in the Martian sunlight.
Several crewmembers were already in spacesuits and clearing away the Martian dust as Jonesy, Maggie and Saturn headed out for preflight checks. Jonesy was desperate to get away from the cabin fever of the base. The red Martian dust had sunk down the sides of the shields, and once the wind had dissipated, had gently passed through the walls. With the strong wind, the swirling dust and stones hit the shields hard and were repelled, but once the movement of the dust softened, it began to slowly slip through.
Jonesy noticed at least two feet of dust piled up around the inner shield walls during this storm, more than ever before. The mining robots were made operational, and they cleaned up the piles of dust.
Forty of the crew were going now that one shuttle could take so many. Nobody knew how many sleep chambers there were on DX2017. VIN had only seen twelve, but Commander Joot had told them that he knew that there was the chance the Ruler was still asleep, which meant as VIN had suggested on past visits that there could be a second room of cryogenic cabinets below the first. It certainly wasn’t anywhere else. Also if the Ruler was there, that meant that there was another Matt craft in the planet, and Ryan, since he had so much time to think during the storm, had ideas to use it to get his people home.
The crew had drunk half the remaining alcohol when Ryan stopped their daily routine of a few tots per person. He was also enjoying the rocket fuel. They had 48 gallons left, and he hoped that the supplies left inside DX2017 were still usable. 48 gallons of fuel wouldn’t get it back to Earth, but that and a full tank might if it was connected to one of the shuttles. The extra might be needed to reenter Earth’s atmosphere. Ryan still had thousands of gallons of the stuff underground in Nevada.
Both doctors and Nurse Martha were going along. Over the last couple of years, they had taught several of the NextGen girls basic medicine. Unfortunately, their only son, Jacob Rogers, who was destined to be the next doctor, had died in the attack, but they still had six of the NextGen girls under the leadership of Joanne Dithers Roo, who could aid any sick or hurt in an emergency.
Every member of the first odyssey was ready and an hour later began climbing into the three crew compartments. A small amount of provisions, three months’ supply of food and water for thirty, and the tanks of liquid nitrogen to replace the tanks on the planet were already packed into the compartments. Several of the crew would have sit and sleep on them.
Goodbyes and tears abounded as the parents said their goodbyes and left their children. The NextGens were under the new base and flight leadership of Mars Noble, Lunar Richmond and Saturn Jones. It was their job to get the youngsters back to Earth.
At twenty years old, the new team were ready for the mission; perhaps not as experienced as their parents, but ready to take over command.
None of the Matts could go, as they had already been frozen once, but they lived much longer than the Tall People, and as Jonesy had complained, still had many years of fishing before them.
SB-III filled up with crew, her tanks were full, and DX2017 would be a thirty-hour flight away once they left Mar’s orbit.
Ryan looked back at The Martian Club Retreat for the last time, as it was his turn to enter the shuttle. His eyes were wet as he looked back at what he had built, the first outpost for mankind, and was saddened that once again warlike humans – of a sort – had taken away his dream. The fields under the two shields were full of green healthy vegetation. So were the greenhouses inside, and dozens of the younger crew waved at each person as they entered the shuttle doors.
Suzi was next, and she was quite emotional at seeing her work for the last time. She really missed Mr. Rose and her teammates who had died in the attack. She felt the same as Ryan, and held no apologies for the human race, past or present. Like Ryan, she felt let down by her fellow man. A perfect space advancement mission for the last twenty years had been beaten up from all sides by human greed, human lust for power, and the human lack of common sense. As a scientist, she couldn’t understand why.
Much like at an airport at the beginning of flight, the crowd retreated to the other shield as SB-III’s thrusters glowed, and slowly the craft exited the shield and climbed out of view.
DX2017 looked the same to Jonesy and Maggie as they caught it up 48 hours later. They had orbited the red planet twice, and then blasted off toward the small asteroid-planet. The three crew compartments were crowded, but this flight would be very short compared to the return to Earth by the NextGens in 4 weeks’ time.
“Looks like home from home,” said Jonesy to Ryan as the planet grew from nothing to a dull blue round ball in front of them.
One orbit was enough to give Jonesy the direction to lower the ship down to the blue shield below them. The single shield was still there, and he hoped the internal atmosphere was there as well. Slowly the craft was lowered into the shield as VIN, Mars and Jonesy prepared to exit through the docking port.
“A little cold, 45 degrees Fahrenheit but safe for passage into the underground chambers,” said VIN once his outer suit had read what was in the shield.
“Fifty-five degrees inside the chamber, a little high in oxygen and helium but safe to breathe. I’m increasing the power to warm up our new home,” he added ten minutes later, asking his son to take off his helmet.
“That’s right, light the fireplace, partner, fix up my old comfortable chair and get the dog to bring me the evening paper,” joked Jonesy as he helped the crew out of the shuttle above ground.
There were only a dozen spacesuits left between them. The rest had been destroyed aboard the mother ship. Slowly, Allen and Jamie, Michael and Penny Pitt, and Commander Roo helped the aging crew one by one. He then led them to the opening of the underground chamber and down the ladder, which had been put up many years earlier on the first visit.
To VIN’s eagle eyes, nothing had moved. The inside of both chambers were as neatly packed as they had left it. Ryan asked VIN to check the alcohol supplies in the barrels before he himself headed down, and it was there, all 500 gallons of it.
VIN and Commander Roo immediately headed to the medical room where Roo had been found by the astronaut. It was as they had left it, and Roo began to look carefully for anything telltale that would move or open a section of the floor of the room.
“I believe this is the control console; remember, the one you guys turned upside down?” VIN asked, and Roo nodded.
“There could be a button we missed, not knowing there was a second chamber,” Roo replied.
Together they scrutinized the console. On the underneath part were more than a dozen buttons, and one by one they triggered them. The doors opened and closed around them. The lights went up and down, and suddenly VIN remembered how the Matt system worked. The last blue switch turned to green as the metal floor vibrated under their feet.
“We can’t find the door, because we never started the system to reheat the lower cabinets,” he said to Roo, who nodded in agreement. “Tell the doctors we have started the countdown to the second room, wherever it is,” ordered VIN to his son. “Tell them we have twelve hours.”
During the twelve hours of waiting, the supplies were unloaded and the metal tanks full of liquid nitrogen readied to be exchanged. Nobody wanted to enter the medical room in case they got in the way of the proceedings.
Eleven hours after the floor had vibrated, and much to VIN’s delight, half of the floor of the medical room suddenly moved and slid back into the other half of the floor. Inside was a set of silver metal stairs down to a lower room. Carefully, and after donning suits, he and Roo stepped down into the second room below the first.
It looked identical to the upper level, except it had two walls of cabinets instead of just one.
“I believe we have 36 chambers in total,” shouted VIN to Ryan excitedly. Ryan was standing in the command center with a radio. “I see three red lights; one is red and flickering, two are still. I think the nitrogen must have finally run out in the last couple of decades. Roo, it looks like we saved you and your mother just in time.”
VIN began to open the cabinets with no lights as the atmosphere bettered itself around them. Every cabinet on the right hand wall was empty and unused. Only the three with lights refused to open. The last cabinet held what they were expecting—a large Ruler chest and two smaller ones.
“I bet this is your Ruler, his wife and a child,” VIN said to Roo as the doctors came down the stairs with just three IV stands and a case of other equipment once the air was safe and they had removed their helmets.
Dr. Walls was excited. This was cutting edge technology to him, and Dr. Nancy had spent hours teaching him and Dr. Rogers what she had learned from the Matts, before she had died.
The first door burst open with its usual smell of bad air, vibrations and gases. VIN knew it was death before his eyes saw the small shape inside. She looked female, her face the paleness of death.
The next cabinet opened and inside was a larger body. The Ruler, and he had died a long time earlier, as his body inside the blue suit was already dust.
“Hope this doesn’t happen to me,” said VIN as the third door opened. He was right; inside was a small two-foot tall spacesuit, a child, and the child was beginning to stir.
The doctors got to work and lifted the still vibrating child out of the cabinet and up the stairs where it was warmer.
“Mark each chamber that didn’t work,” said Ryan to VIN, who did so. They were not going to tempt fate.
An hour later the child, a boy, was talking to Roo, his arm on drips and his small body wrapped in space blankets. The boy was scared and Roo was left alone to comfort the boy.
A few hours later, Roo talked to VIN and Ryan.
“Like my journey in the cabinets, the boy was shocked to learn that so much time has passed. He felt that he had just gone to sleep. He had gone through a dream of being cold, and then he was being vibrated like crazy, and awoke to see us looking him. His name is Foo. Son of the Supreme Ruler, fifteen years old, a baby in our world but old enough to talk. There were two guards.”
“I assume the guards died, two of the dead bodies we found in the rear chamber,” VIN added. The others nodded.
“Well, we have 30 working cabinets for the older 40 crewmembers,” said Jonesy. “Who returns to Mars?” he asked Ryan.
“I have the list,” Ryan replied. “We must use all 30 useable cabinets to make as much room as possible for the others for the flight home.”
Over the next hour the first crewmembers who were going to sleep were prepared. Vitaliy and his crew were heading for sleep in the third shift, after they had finished exchanging the nitrogen tanks. If the original tanks had lasted nearly 10,000 years, thirteen years wouldn’t be a big deal. Ryan and VIN would enter last.
VIN and Roo finally opened a door leading down a corridor from the lower chamber. They quickly closed the door, exited the chambers and returned to their suits. Then, with Mars Noble also suited up, they opened up and headed back into the lower sleep chamber to find the Ruler’s ship. The three men jumped quickly through the doorway as it was opened, and the door was quickly closed behind them to avoid allowing too much of the atmosphere to escape, and to let the final tanks to be replaced.
It was there, and with a black box in a small cavern sealed off from the surface. The spaceship was identical to all the others, and had transported ten Matts and two pilots from the Earth’s surface to DX2017 sometime in its past. For Ryan, the find was important in many ways. First, it reduced the crowding in his craft by one person. Some of the crew could live aboard this craft while it piggybacked its way to Earth linked to one of the shuttles.
Then it could enter with a black box secretly anywhere on Earth, and wouldn’t be dependent on the other six craft once it was in orbit around the Earth. The Matt craft rarely ever showed up on radar in space or in the atmosphere, and a new plan came to him.
The ship, though in perfect condition, was almost empty of alcohol. It had about 50 gallons in its tanks. Ryan ordered Vitaliy’s men to suit up and refuel the ship. It was to be filled with every drop left on the planet and the rest placed in its hold.
After showing Mars Noble how to open the cavern, they headed back and returned back into the lower room once they had warned everybody to get out.
The first ten crewmembers were nearly asleep in the upper room inside the cabinets. They were not wearing the blue suits the Matts had done. The suits weren’t necessary. Suzi was one of them, and VIN and Mars had a few minutes to say goodbye, kissing her fondly as she felt the powerful sedative take effect, and she passed into a peaceful sleep.
The medical crew were ready and working fast. Each of the ten had their nose, ears and throat sealed, and the cabinet pushed into the wall. Most of the wives were in the first group. Kathy Richmond was the last to be closed. Lunar, Pluto Katherine and Ryan saying their tearful goodbyes. Penny Pitt and Jamie Saunders were already asleep. It was girls first, which would give them the opportunity to be first to be woken up. Their names were written onto each of the cabinets end panels. It seemed the men would be the majority downstairs.
The vibrations were slight, certainly not as powerful as the warming of the cabinets, and gas could be heard hissing all around them as the cabinets began to get very cold.
“As I said to Mom, my face will be the first one you see when you regain consciousness,” said a tearful Mars Noble.
“I hope so, son; yours or Commander Roo’s would be nice. I think I scared the crap out of the poor Matt when he saw me looking down at him,” half-joked VIN.
There was a break of twelve hours before the second lot entered the next set of cabinets below. The alcohol had been taken through to the spacecraft, the room cleared and the door closed. VIN had seen and felt what the vacuum of space could do to the human body.
Jonesy was squeezed into one of the cabinets, next to Maggie. He was already very drowsy when VIN and Mars arrived.
“You make sure I get fishing, young Mars,” said Jonesy to the new commander as Saturn held his hand. Jonesy was given a slightly larger dose of the sedative than the others. “If I don’t make it, I’ll send that big space shark after all of you,” and his eyes slowly closed. He drifted off to sleep and Saturn gave him the last kiss.
While Dr. Walls set Jonesy’s body sideways and got his long legs right, Saturn held her mother’s hand. She had wanted to sleep side by side with her husband, and Maggie always got her way. She also drifted into sleep.
Allen Saunders and Michael Pitt were next. It took several minutes, and then the second group was done.
The third and final group was composed of Dr. Rogers, VIN, Ryan and the rest of the technicians. The crew of NextGens helping Dr. Walls, who would be the ones to return the 30 crewmembers to life, closed them down one by one.
“See you soon, buddy,” said VIN to his son while holding his hand and lying in the small cabinet. He was beginning to feel fuzzy, like he had felt when the pretty doctor in Baghdad had put him back to sleep. If this cabinet was so small for him, it would have been hell for Jonesy if he were awake. “Don’t grow a beard or anything so that I can’t recognize you when I come around. Fly safe and get everybody back to terra firma. Complete your mission, my boy; look after everyone equally, and one day we can go fishing back on Earth.”
With that VIN, and then Ryan, who was kissed and said goodbye to his daughters Lunar and Pluto Katherine, went to sleep.
Chapter 24
Closure
The first thing Mars Noble noticed when he walked back into the base on Mars was that all the tall people were gone. Everybody around was either Matt, or a young Tall Person, few close to six feet. Dr. Walls, who was the oldest person back at base, was only 5 foot 10, an inch shorter than Mars.
Even old Lieutenant Walls, the doctor’s father, at exactly six feet tall, was asleep on DX2017, heading away from them at a rapid rate.
It had taken ten days in total for the mission, and the weather wasn’t friendly when they returned.
Under Saturn Jones’ command SB-III had left the small planet twelve hours after the medical rooms had stopped vibrating and hissing. All the cabinets showed blue handles, which was good. Nobody was staying behind; it wasn’t necessary. With Commander Roo as commander of the Matt craft, and Mars Noble as copilot in the rear seat, the cavern door opened and the craft left the planet trailing SB-III.
“Saturn Jones, you sure look pregnant from out here,” joked Mars Noble, and they came abreast of SB-III on the port side, close enough to see waves from the cockpit. He had a handheld radio with him in the Ruler’s craft for communications.
“In your dreams, astronaut,” Saturn joked back. The crew were solemn inside the pregnant shuttle. Many of them had just left their parents asleep at minus 300 degrees Fahrenheit in the middle of space, and a thousand things could go wrong, which could leave them out there until the nitrogen ended, 7,000 to 10,000 years from now.
Pluto Jane Pitt was in the copilot’s seat and smiled at the brashness of the young Noble in the craft next to them. “Maybe we should just ignore that lousy excuse for testosterone,” she added to Saturn. Saturn smiled, knowing that her copilot also had her eyes on her man, as well as several others, and they had no chance against a Jones.
Ryan had spent two hours in private with VIN, Mars Noble and Saturn Jones before he and VIN were put to sleep. Ryan was worried as he always was. VIN agreed with everything Ryan told them. Most of the oldies didn’t trust the humans on Earth, and Mars and the rest of the crew had been told countless times not to trust anybody when they reached Earth. Ryan, Mars Noble and Saturn had set up a counter-plan for if any of the craft’s crew were harassed when they reached Earth.
Nobody knew if the plan would be needed, and they had to get through the possible blockade of the cubes first, if their old freighters had been nuked or something.
A new storm approaching their area of the planet could be seen as they descended on their second orbit down to 100,000 feet above the surface. Instead of mountains and valleys, much of the surface to the west of them was a smooth pinkness around an eye. This was the telltale signs of a dust storm, and this was a massive storm, even bigger than the one Mars Noble had seen from the last water collection journey.
The swirl of dust, which Jonesy had taught him looked like a hurricane on Earth, was pink, and not white clouds like on Earth. This one looked about 2,000 miles across, covered as far as the horizon and was heading rapidly in the direction of The Martian Club Retreat, about 300 miles in front of it.
The two craft headed down rapidly and entered the shield with the dust already swirling menacingly around them. It wasn’t good for the thrusters and they would have to be cleaned and inspected.
Both Saturn and then Commander Roo edged their craft into the furthest part of the second shield from the base. There was just room for both craft, and they destroyed several plants squeezing in as quickly as they could to get the craft under the protection of the shield.
Once inside the shield, they were safe, and the ten remaining crewmembers headed back into the chambers for briefing.
None of the old commanders were there anymore. Even Igor and Boris were asleep nearly 350,000 miles away. It was now up to the NextGens to keep protocol, and Lunar Richmond took command of the first briefing.
The storm looked bad; the thrusters on the two ships needed to be fully checked out, and only Commander Roo and Dr. Walls said that they needed a drink. Both knew that it would be a dry base pretty soon, due to the last reserves of beer. Even the beer was now depleted, as the shields had been replanted with other vegetation for the ride home in three weeks.
Because the older consumers of the product weren’t on base anymore, less than half a dozen of the older members of the crew partook in the old Jonesy custom, and they had only a few gallons of the brown liquid left before they would have to wait until they reached an Aussie pub somewhere in the Outback.
Nobody was really worried, as the journey was expected to take about 180 days, six months, and in seven months they would be back on Earth and looking for their wallets to pay for drinks.
The storm raged just like the storm before. This one seemed to have more power, and even the shields vibrated now and again when hard gusts of dust hit them.
The beer was gone three weeks later when they were due to leave. The storm still raged when the last departure day arrived before they needed to make Earth with their limited supplies aboard ship.
Life inside the base became quiet. They couldn’t leave. The crew were trapped and became very quiet when Mars told them that the last day of departure had passed. Now they had to wait another 22 months.
The storm ended eleven long months later, gave them about six weeks of sunshine, and then the third storm arrived and kept them pinned down again.
As the time neared for the next orbital opposition, many prayed daily for the storm to end. If it ended early, they couldn’t leave until the due window of opportunity, and if another storm arrived, they would again be trapped.
The crew in command got on with survival, did plays, worked at each other’s jobs to alleviate boredom, and education went on as normal. Some of the papyrus leaves not taken on DX2017 with the older generation were slowly understood and some of the secrets of the old Matts revealed to the physicists left. The astronauts spent hundreds of hours in the simulator, which turned into a game. Several of the younger children wanted to become astronauts, and they in turn became apt at simulator flight.
It was three days into their new departure window when the storm ended. Many couldn’t believe it as they headed into the shield to see stars for the first time that year.
DX2017 had been on its way for 25 months when Mars gathered everybody together. They were all ready. Nobody was to be left behind. The power would remain on inside the base, except that the two outside shields would be taken with. Each of the shuttles had a shield, so did Astermine I and II, and the Matt craft. Only Asterspace Three was short of a shield. Saturn would be giving her shield to the mining craft for reentry, and she had planned to enter the old-fashioned way once the crew had spacewalked around her craft and checked that her heat bricks were still in place. It was either that, or one of the craft could return with a black box and turn it over to her to use.
Within three hours of the sun coming up over the horizon, Mars Noble and Commander Roo suited up and closed down the two shields, allowing the atmosphere to escape, which rocked all seven craft inside them. They strapped the black boxes together with their independent Plutonium-238 batteries onto metal catches on the outer skin of Astermine I and then Astermine II. In the meantime SB-I and then SB-II launched, their weight at maximum and their thrusters wrecking any vegetation that was not yet destroyed by the lack of atmosphere. There was no going back.
“There is a storm. You were right, Mars,” said Pluto Jane over the radio in command of SB-I as she rose out of the weak Martian atmosphere. “There is a pink cloud about 100 miles west of the base, it’s not very big but it does have an eye, a real big one. You have about 20 minutes. Dust clouds go up to 10,000 feet. We are passing through 15,000 feet, over.”
“Copy that,” replied Mars, heading with Commander Roo to the Matt craft. Their six passengers were already inside, and all they had to do was to get in, start launch procedures and take off. Astermine I lifted off as they reached the craft, and Astermine II a minute later. Asterspace Three followed the others, and SB-III had to wait until last, as her thrusters could damage the Matt craft.
“We are aboard,” said Mars over his radio. “We need ten minutes for checks, over.”
“That’s about all you have,” replied Pluto Jane from above them. “Make it nine minutes; Saturn needs a minute after you.”
Mars and Commander Roo worked as fast as the procedures for takeoff allowed them. The thrusters had to be at a certain temperature before they could launch.
“You have about a minute,” said one of the girls from above as Commander Roo lifted her off the surface.
“Saturn, follow us, we are going to climb out east, ahead of the storm, get off now! We are away,” said Mars as they headed forward.
“Copy that,” and Mars heard her breathe in hard as a gust hit both their craft hard, and with maximum thrust they were blown out eastwards and upward by the storm.
One hundred and seventy-nine long days later, all seven craft saw Earth rise over the moon, which was 20,000 miles directly in front of them. It was a beautiful site as the smaller Earth rose over the large dark moon.
They had expected this, the moon getting slap-bang in their way, and the pull of the barren satellite had pulled them in faster with no extra use of fuel. Their course would take them within 3,000 miles of the moon’s surface before it let them go, and then the Earth would be dead ahead.
“That is the most beautiful sight I have ever seen,” said Lunar Richmond, flying Astermine II.
“I don’t ever want to leave Earth again, except to return to the moon to see this eclipse again,” added Pluto Jane in SB-II.
“Certainly is romantic,” said Mars Noble, sitting next to Saturn Jones in SB-III and holding her hand. The Matt craft had been latched onto the roof of the shuttle, and it was a short spacewalk to get to the docking port.
“And by the way, I have excellent news for all now that we see Earth filling our windshields,” added Saturn Jones. She was rosy and full of health as she told all her friends what Dr. Walls had told her two weeks earlier, that she was expecting.
As expected, there were catcalls and words of displeasure that Mars was the father, and that he could have visited their craft in his spacesuit anytime. He just smiled, checking the computer readouts.
As they neared Earth 24 hours later, he kissed his sweetheart goodbye and headed back into the Matt ship with Commander Roo and its bored passengers.
“I see one through the laser camera,” shouted Penelope Pitt excitedly a day after Mars’s return. “I see one of the blue shields orbiting Earth. There is one other blip on my screen. I see it and the other radar contact. I’m adjusting the laser locking device onto it. Yes, it is another blue shield. We have two up here, which means that there are no cubes up in orbit. There can’t be.”
That was all they saw as they descended into a high 5,000-mile orbit of Earth, as instructed by Ryan. There was nothing down there, and that gave Saturn Jones the opportunity to speak to Australia on the channel that had always been open for them.
“G’day, Astermine. Need to get the boss. Good to hear you guys have returned, out.”
It took a couple of hours, and the second reply came back loud and clear.
“Astermine, good to hear you guys are back. We have been waiting years for your return. Your new home is at the following coordinates, and 20 miles off the northeastern Australian coastline. There is a 10,000 foot airstrip, 30 feet wide, ready for you. Your new base has all the electronics and radio beacons you might need to land. Within 24 hours we can have the base restocked with fresh produce, and we are issuing orders not to visit until you invite us. Is Ryan there? This is John Soames, President of the Australasian government, and I would like to welcome him home.”
“Negative. The boss is on the next flight. This is just the first group of craft returning, over,” replied Saturn. “It seems there is no welcoming committee up here?” she asked. Mars Noble had a mobile radio aboard, but wasn’t ready to use it just yet.
“No, great news, your ships have defended space perfectly since you left. The Chinese managed to hit one of your spacecraft with a nuke, one of the last they sent up. We believe that the nuclear armed countries have used up most of their missiles trying to get those spaceships of yours, only hitting one. Ryan will be surprised to learn that he has virtually emptied this planet of all nukes, and the world is a far safer place then when you left. We count six craft returning, over.”
“How did they see all six craft?” Saturn asked over their private intercom.
“I think I see something on radar,” said Penelope Pitt. “Yes, there it is. I thought I saw something hours ago. I see another, there is a second one. The computer is telling me at 22,500 miles attitude there is one over central Australia and one over the Mediterranean, somewhere above Egypt or Israel.”
“There’s a third,” added Pluto Jane Saunders in SB-II. “It is right over the United States. Somebody seems to have satellites in space. I just thought the blip was radar shadows or something.”
“This is Lunar Richmond, Ryan’s elder daughter, in command of one of our arriving spacecraft. It seems somebody has new satellites up here,” she asked John Soames.
“Yes, pretty aren’t they, Ms. Richmond? Ours was first, three years ago. Our friends the Israelis launched theirs two months after us, and Canada the third country, a year later. We track everything from them, we have complete intercontinental communications and radar, and we saw your ships approaching from 200,000 miles out two days ago. We didn’t want to scare you into leaving again. The Chinese have tried to get a few cubes up there, but they were always attracted to your cubes in LEO. We warned them a year ago and they finally gave up. The Chinese have nothing left to throw into space anymore. The United States of America is in a mess. Washington hardly works and they haven’t produced anything new now for decades. The Russians never talk to anybody and there are mass battles in Russia and China between warring factions. I suggest you guys stay out of those three countries. The U.S. is safe though and most probably needs your father’s help to get reorganized. We believe nobody wants to be President of that country anymore. Martin Brusk, Ryan’s old friend, is the Chief of Defense in Israel, and your father’s oldest friend, the old U.S. President, his youngest daughter, who was born in Canada, is head of Defense in the Toronto government. Between us three countries and your spaceships protecting us up there, we have brought this planet some peace, and it is in far better shape than when your father lived here.”
Lunar Richmond told this exact story to her father eleven years later, when he and the others awoke on DX2017, 190,000 miles from Earth.
Ryan was still groggy. To him, he had been asleep for only minutes, and he realized that this mature-looking women was his little daughter, Lunar. She and several others had returned to awaken the travelers, and every cabinet had opened to reveal a fit and healthy human who hadn’t aged a day in thirteen years.
“How are you? Where is Pluto Katherine?” Ryan asked once what his daughter had told him sunk in.
“Pluto is down on our island looking after my two boys, your grandchildren, Mark and James. She is also married and gave birth to her son Titan two months ago. We are both married, happily to two Australian guys, pilots, and you are the grandfather of three beautiful boys, Granddad!” said his smiling 32-year-old daughter as the IV fluid flowed through his body. He looked up to see his wife slowly approaching. She had awoken twelve hours earlier and could already walk in the soft gravity.
“How’s the fishing?” Jonesy asked Saturn as she rubbed his stiff legs and then hugged her mother, Maggie. He didn’t recognize the beautiful lady in front of him, and his legs felt weird, as if they had been stuck behind his back for several years.
“You just wait, Mr. Jones. There is an 80-year-old smelly sea captain called Bob Mathews who keeps asking for you, and he says he knows every fishing spot in the Indian Ocean. Also, you have two young boys, my kids, waiting for their grandpa and grandma to take them fishing.” That made both Jonesy and Maggie smile.
“Have you seen your mother? Is she okay?” VIN asked, still not with it. Mars Noble nodded at the same man he had put to sleep thirteen years earlier. His father, although pale and sickly looking, hadn’t aged a day.
VIN, on the other hand, saw a very strong and fit man standing in front of him he didn’t recognize.
“You just relax, Dad. Our mission to return to Earth was a total success. There are many friends waiting for you to return. You have two grandchildren, two of the best boys you can ever imagine, who are dying to meet you and Mom. The world down there is better thanks to you and Jonesy and Ryan. I can’t wait to take you fishing and drink a few cold beers aboard our boat with you, Dad.
VIN smiled. He, Suzi and Mars were okay, and they were going home, forever.
Books by the Author
The Book of Tolan Series (Adult Reading)
Banking, Beer & Robert the Bruce —Hardcover and eBook
Easy Come Easy Go — Hardcover and eBook
It Could Happen — draft format only
AMERICA ONE Series (General Reading)
AMERICA ONE – eBook, Paperback (and Audio — November 2013)
AMERICA ONE II: The Launch —eBook, Paperback (and Audio — December 2013)
AMERICA ONE III: The Odyssey Begins —eBook, Paperback (and Audio — March 2014)
AMERICA ONE IV: Return to Earth —eBook, Paperback (and Audio – April 2014)
AMERICA ONE V, NextGen —eBook (mid-December 2013)
INVASION USA Series (General Reading)
INVASION USA I — The End of Modern Civilization —eBook and Paperback
INVASION USA II — The Battle for New York —eBook and Paperback
INVASION USA III — The Battle for Survival —eBook and Paperback
INVASION USA IV — The Battle for Houston … The Aftermath –eBook and Paperback
INVASION EUROPE: The European Side of the Story —eBook (2014)
THE BANKER’S CLUB Series (Teenagers and Adults)
THE BANKER’S CLUB I: Defaults —eBook
THE BANKER’S CLUB II: Acquisitions —eBook (February 2014)
THE BANKER’S CLUB III: Withdrawals —eBook (April 2014)
About the Author
T I WADE was born in Bromley, Kent, England in 1954.
His father, a banker, was promoted with his International Bank to Africa and the young family moved to Africa in 1956.
The author grew up in Southern Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) and a fictional depiction of his life is humorously described in his novel EASY COME EASY GO, Volume II of The Book of Tolan Series. Once he had completed his mandatory military service, at 21 he left Africa to mature in Europe.
He enjoyed Europe and lived in three countries; England, Germany and Portugal for a total of fifteen years before returning to Africa (Cape Town), in 1989.
Here the author owned and ran a restaurant, a coffee manufacturing and retail business, flew a Cessna 210 around desolate southern Africa and finally got married in 1992.
Due to the upheavals of the political turmoil in South Africa, the Wade family of three moved to the United States in 1996. Park City, Utah was where his writing career began.
To date, T I Wade has written thirteen novels.
The author, his wife and two teenage children currently live near Raleigh, North Carolina.