Parker's Folly (10 page)

As he finished speaking, TK leaned a bit closer to Fitzroy, causing the balancing wheelchair to advance and Marshal Fitzroy to backpedal toward the door.  “Do you get me?”

Not expecting to find the cybernetic billionaire right in his face, the flustered Marshal could only sputter and turn red.

“Now, now, Mr. Parker. I apologize,” said Chief Marshal Earl, intervening before the situation got completely out of hand. “Fitzroy, you go and check on what they're doing out front.”

Marshal Earl turned to TK, “I know coming onto another man's property uninvited is an upsetting business. But we can all stay calm and, as you said Mr. Parker, civil.”

“Fine.” TK backed the chair up while slowly settling back to four wheel mode. He pulled back to his position behind the desk so he could view both the lawmen and the east end of the hanger through the window. The Ranger, Hopkins, walked over to the window. Talking around the toothpick in the side of his mouth he said, “tell the man what this is all about, Tom.”

“I was getting to that, Sid. Mr. Parker we've got us a search warrant here, signed by a Federal judge, that let's us search your property for certain items.”

“And just what would those items be, Marshal?”

“Now understand, this warrant was made out in response to a request from Homeland Security and the folks at the Pentagon. They say we are looking for, and I quote,” The Marshal unfolded the document he had been carrying when he entered the room. “Devices or apparatus either nuclear in nature or capable of initiating a nuclear reaction or the release of ionizing radiation, and any such ancillary equipment or devices that may be attached to said equipment.”

“Equipment such as what, Marshal?”

“Well, equipment such as a nuclear bomb, Mr. Parker. Or a rocket ship.”

“You actually think I have a nuclear bomb in my house?”

“No, actually. We believe what we are looking for is out there in that big old shed.” Marshal Earl motioned toward the window and the hangar beyond.

“Ain't a shed, its a dirigible hangar—get your facts straight. What makes you think you will find a nuclear whatsit in my dirigible hanger, Marshal?”

“The Air Force said they picked up radiation coming from your dirigible hanger on more than one occasion, Mr. Parker. Not much in the way of normal ranch equipment puts out radiation that can be picked up by an Air Force satellite.”

As the Marines looked on, the retracting ramp slid home and the hatch cover, which had been nestled against the curved hull of the ship above the hatch opening, snapped shut.  On the smooth hull, only the faintest outline remained where the opening had been.

From the still open cargo door behind the squad of Marines came a familiar sound—a loud klaxon issued three blasts and then a voice announced “Attention all hands. Prepare for immediate departure. Rig for heavy acceleration, repeat, rig for heavy acceleration. This is not a drill!”

Alarms and warning lights erupted all around. With a loud booming echo, followed by much creaking and grinding of metal, the doors at the east end of the hangar began to open.

Lt. Merryweather was a man in crisis. He was a cryptography specialist, not a platoon leader—he just wasn't good in high stress situations and definitely not a leader of men. He was getting only static on the radio and there was no one else to ask for orders.

“Sir, it's shit or get off the pot time,” the Gunny said. “Do we board the ship or evacuate the building?” She didn't know for sure, but being in the hangar when this silver monster blasted off did not seem conducive to one's health.

Every Marine in the squad was looking to the Lieutenant for a decision, he was their officer. In officer training they always emphasized the need to be decisive. If you are taking fire on a hillside, go up the hill or go down the hill—don't just stand there taking casualties. He swallowed once, hard.

“Marines! Board that ship!”

“Aye aye, Sir!” The Gunny was just relieved that they were moving. “OK, you heard the Lieutenant! Through the aft hatch. MOVE!”

The Marines quickly boarded the ship through the large cargo opening. The space before them was eight and a half meters wide at the deck, with the ceiling about the same distance overhead.
The squad quickly fanned out across the large open space, taking positions behind the scattered crates setting on the deck.

On the Bridge, the Captain reacted swiftly to Lt. Curtis' report of armed men outside the ship. He checked the exterior cameras—the port side was clear but the starboard side was crawling with figures in US desert camouflage. The Captain also knew Marines when he saw them.

Where the hell did they come from? No matter, they're too late to prevent the ship from taking off. Thank goodness Gretchen tried to take the civilians off the starboard side or we wouldn't have seen the Marines until too late.
With that, he activated the PA and gave final warning of the ship's impending departure. “Folly?”

“Yes, Captain?” the ship's computer answered.

“Folly, secure all external hatches and make the ship ready for departure.” The cargo hold had two large exterior doors—technically a hatch is an opening in a deck while a door passes through a bulkhead, but in space the difference is somewhat moot. Both doors opened on parallel hinges, much like the side doors of a mini-van, sliding along the side of the hull. The forward door on the port side slid aft, while the aft door on the starboard side slid forward. The Marines boarded through the aft door.

“Captain?” the ship's voice spoke. “There are people entering the ship through the starboard side cargo door. I cannot close the cargo door without the possibility of injuring one of them.”

Jack glanced at the external view to starboard and saw the last Marine enter the cargo hold. He knew he had to act fast. “Command override! Emergency close both cargo hold doors now!”

“Override acknowledged. The doors are now closed, Captain.”

* * * * *

 The last Marine through the entrance was Lt. Merryweather. Scant seconds after he stepped inside the massive door slammed shut behind him. The forward door had also shut and the result was a sudden spike in air pressure, a thud more felt in the chest than a sound. LCpl “Ronnie” Reagan, who had some knowledge of engineering and a knack for things mechanical, jumped. “Whoa. Did you see that!”

“See what,” asked
PFC Herman “Kato” Kwan.

“The way the hatch snapped shut!”

“Yeah, we was all right here, Ronnie,” said PFC Harold Davis.

“Don't you get it, Two Can?” PFC Davis was called Two Can because of his inability to consume large amounts of alcohol, a favorite Marine recreational pastime. “That hatch has to weigh several tons. Did you see how fast it shut? It could have sliced one of us in half, easy.”

“Cut the chatter and stay alert,” the Gunny yelled. “We're on board uninvited—keep an eye out for possible hostiles. Just make sure they're armed and threatening before pointing a weapon at 'em.”

* * * * *

Hellfire!
Now he had Marines on board the ship.
OK, they are in the cargo hold, I can contain them there.
“Folly, lock all doors and hatches that access the cargo hold. Do not allow anyone access to the cargo hold except the ship's officers.”

“As you wish, Captain. The cargo hold is now isolated from the rest of the ship. Should I discontinue environmental support as well?”

“What? No, let them keep breathing. I'll deal with our stowaways once we achieve orbit.”
What an odd question, where had that come from?
No matter, more pressing matters to handle.
“Engineering, Bridge. Dr. Gupta, do we have engines?”

“Oh yes, Captain. They are working splendidly. The last round of adjustments did the trick.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Please secure your area for immediate takeoff. Mr. Vincent, activate the bottom repulsor array. Raise the ship, Mr. Vincent.”

“Activating bottom repulsors, Sir.” Muted crashing sounds from outside the ship accompanied a feeling of upward motion. The repulsors, as their name implied, push all matter in their vicinity
away. Ask Dr. Gupta for an explanation and he would go on about
gravitons from other branes adjacent to our own and
modifying the curvature of local spacetime but, in effect, they generate negative gravity—a force that repels mass instead of attracting it.

Like gravity, the effect is mutual. As the repulsor array repelled the planet beneath the hull, an equal but opposite force pushed the ship upward. It also had an immediate effect on the scaffolding that had surrounded the ship while it was under construction. The decking that the Marines had just been standing on was crumpled and cast aside like tissue paper as the massive ship rose four meters into the air.

“It looks like the hangar doors have jammed, Sir,” Reported Bobby. The repulsors created a roaring sound as air was sucked from above the ship and blown outward below.

“Hmm, very well. Give me full forward shields, Mr. Medina. Mr. Danner, compensate for any displacement aft.” The ship mounted repulsor generators over its entire hull, which could be used to form a protective, gravitational barrier surrounding the entire vessel. The ship shuddered slightly, then steadied.

“Mr. Medina, sound the maneuvering alarm.” A whooping sound began that could be heard all over the ship.

“And now, if you please Mr. Vincent. We will need to ram through those doors. Ahead one quarter, take us out of the hangar.”

“So let me get this straight,” TK said to Chief Marshal Earl. “You want me to let you search my hangar looking for dangerous radiation, is that it?”

“I really don't need your permission, Mr. Parker. I'm just being polite. Those SWAT boys are about to enter your hangar, as you can see. Tell me, will they find something in there like, say, a rocket ship?”

“No they aren't,” said the Texas Ranger, standing at the window. A muffled whomp sound came from outside.

“Aren't what, Sid?” replied the Marshal, clearly annoyed.

“They aren't about to enter the hangar. Looks like all the windows just blew out and yer SWAT boys are all suckin' ground.”

“Huh?!” Marshal Earl's head whipped around.

Everyone in the room stared through the window at the hangar a half mile south of the ranch house. The windows along the first story of the building had all blown out, as the Ranger said, and it looked like the massive doors on the front of the hangar were slowly opening.

“Damn!” Marshal Earl, livid and red faced, slammed both hands on TK's desk and, leaning toward the old man, shouted, “Am I gona' find a God damned rocket ship in your hanger, Mr. Parker?”

“Nope.” said the Texas Ranger, still at the window. Then, moving the toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other, “the rocket ain't in the hangar any more.”

Lt. Curtis led Susan and JT from the forward airlock aft to the guest's dayroom. The lower deck contained the owner's stateroom forward of the passenger hatch, and four guest cabins, two on either side of the central passageway heading aft. Beyond the guest staterooms, just before the internal layout of the ship went from two decks forward to three decks amidships, there was a dayroom, snack bar and lounge area that spanned the width of the hull. A companionway on the port side led to the upper deck main lounge and dining area.

At the far side of the dayroom, coming up the short ladder from the lower deck officers' quarters, was Chief Zackly and two people, a man and a woman, dressed in the gray coveralls of construction personnel. The man had a hangdog look about him and the woman was glancing around nervously.

“I see you found your stowaways, Chief,” the Lieutenant said in greeting. “And like my two charges, they also did not make it off the ship before the hatches were battened.”

“Sorry, Ma'am. Couldn't get 'em off 'fore the rig for departure alarm sounded.”  As if on queue,
the klaxon sounded again and the
loudspeaker said, “Warning! High-g maneuvers imminent. Repeat, secure for high-g maneuvers!”

“Everyone to the chairs against the aft bulkhead, Quickly!” ordered Lt. Curtis, seating herself as she spoke.
I hope everyone else on board has enough sense to take a safe position,
she thought, adding out loud “JT, put your camera gear against the wall, don't try to hold it in your lap.”

“Yes Ma'am. Well Miss Susan,” JT said to his partner, stowing his video equipment on the floor between their
chairs. “Looks like you
are going to be on that first flight after all.” Susan didn't answer, she just sat back in the lounge chair with her eyes tightly shut.

“What's going on?” asked the young woman in gray coveralls. “What's going to happen?”

“You chose the wrong day to tarry on board, girl,” Lt. Curtis said. “The ship is about to launch.”

“Tommy, you bastard! You said nothing would happen!” the girl shrieked, as the g-forces pushed them all back in the chairs. “Nooooo...” she cried as the air was forced from her lungs.

Within the enclosed space of the cargo hold the klaxon sounded and the loudspeaker blared, “Warning! High-g maneuvers imminent. Repeat, secure for high-g maneuvers!”

“What the hell does that mean?” asked Cpl Sizemore.

“It means the ship is going to take off and we are going to get hit with high-g forces, like a plane shot off an aircraft carrier,” said  LCpl Reagan. “Maybe worse.”

“All right, hit the deck!” ordered the Lieutenant. Most of the squad fell to the deck and assumed prone positions.

“No!” yelled Reagan.

“What did you say, Marine?” snapped the Gunny. Lance Corporals did not countermand a Marine officer's orders.

“The front of the ship is that way,” he said, pointing toward the front of the cargo bay. “When the ship blasts off it will throw everything against the aft bulkhead. We need to stand flat against the aft bulkhead, Gunny!”