Parker's Folly (6 page)

“Sir, it looks like we have a Pinnacle
Faded Giant
event in the western part of Texas. No EMP or seismic activity has registered but we have confirmed neutron and gamma ray hits,” Major Beldsoe told her boss, the commander of AFTAC, over the secure phone line. A Faded Giant is a nuclear event not related to a weapons detonation and not considered likely to start a nuclear war.

Faded Giant not withstanding, he had been barbequing in the back yard and was less than pleased to have his family holiday interrupted. “No Sir. We are dispatching an atmospheric sensor drone from
Detachment 45 in Denver, but it will take several hours to arrive on station.”

Though AFTAC was attached to the Air Intelligence Agency for administrative support, the center reports directly to the Deputy Air Force Chief of Staff for Air and Space Operations. That meant escalating the problem required a call to a Major General at the
Pentagon, who was probably also enjoying the holiday with his family.

“Sir, I've talked with the Chief Scientist and he thinks this may be someone running some sort of particle collider or possibly, given the particle and X-ray spectra, an attempt at igniting a fusion reaction.” Many of the people working at AFTAC were civilians, including more than thirty scientists with PhDs. “Yes Sir, he's coming in now.”

If it were not for the previous event occurrences at the same location they would have probably just logged the event and ignored it. But this was definitely strange. The science staff had been recalled and the Colonel would undoubtedly be in shortly. By then she hoped they had some answers. They better have before the Colonel calls the Pentagon.

“Yes sir, I have everyone working the situation. We will update you when you arrive.” A curt “very good, Major,” and the line went dead. No, the Colonel was not happy at all.

The line from the monitoring center lit up. It never rains unless it pours, thought Bledsoe. “Command center, Major Bledsoe” she answered.

“Lt.
Jefferies, Ma'am. I just checked with Homeland Security to see if they were tracking any threats in the area of the event. They were unaware of any terrorist activity in that area but they did mention something peculiar.”

“Something 'peculiar' Lieutenant?”

“Yes Ma'am. One of the local news channels down there is running a story about a rancher building his own spaceship in an abandoned dirigible hanger.”

“An abandon what?”

“Dirigible hanger, Major. Built during WW II. I checked satellite recon imagery and it is the only sizable structure in that area. The source of the radiation we detected could be inside of the hangar.”

“We need to get some boots on the ground down there, what's the closest military installation?”

“That would be Goodfellow, but it is a training facility. No combat units stationed there.”

“Maybe they can send a helicopter with some SF personnel.” Security Forces, or "SF", are military police, mainly charged with base security and air base ground defense. Formerly known as Air Police (AP) their duties tended more toward guard duty and law enforcement than ground assault.

“Damn!” The Major chewed on her lower lip, a nervous indication of deep frustration. “Call 'em and find out what they can do for us. Quickly Lieutenant. The Colonel will want options as soon as he gets here.”

“Will do.” The Lieutenant turned back to his computer display and began looking up the number for Goodfellow HQ.
Best contact
the U.S. Marshals and local law enforcement as well. Hell, maybe the Texas Rangers can help. What was that old saying,
“One riot, one Ranger?”
Well this looked like it was turning into a riot.

The two news people followed First Officer Curtis along the side of the spaceship and through a large opening in its curved flank. A ramp inside the threshold of the six meter wide by four and a half meter tall entrance led down to a large cargo area containing a scattering of crates and containers, some large, some small. The floor looked to be about eight and a half meters wide, while the crates obscured the length of the chamber.

“This is the main cargo hold,” said their guide. “as you can see we are still loading equipment and supplies. There is a second large cargo door at the other end of the hold on the starboard side. Farther aft are the hydroponic gardens and engineering spaces. If you  like, we can take a look at them after we visit the living quarters, the mess and bridge. The spaces forward will probably be more interesting to your viewers.”

“I think we should probably go to the front of the ship straight away. That's where the controls are, right?” Susan asked while trying to take in the cluttered cargo hold. “We are starting to get tight on time for the six o'clock broadcast. If we could get some shots of you or the captain—I assume that there is a captain—answering some questions with that glass nose behind you we would be golden.”

“Of course, we will proceed to the bridge. This way please.” Curtis motioned toward a rectangular area of the deck, marked off with a red border, abutting the forward bulkhead. There was an opening in the bulkhead starting about three and a half meters above the deck.

Susan and JT stepped into the painted rectangle and Lt. Curtis said, “You may want to move in from the edges a bit.” The ship's officer pressed a large button recessed in a panel on the wall and the rectangular area of deck began to rise.

“Whoa!” JT exclaimed, “How about givin' a guy some warning?”

“Sorry, this is a cargo lift that is used to move heavy items from the hold to the mid-deck. I didn't mean to startle you.”

Susan remained unflustered, thinking to herself,
I believe that was a test of some sort
. The lift stopped smoothly at the opening and a large door slid quietly to the side revealing a small brightly lit room and a passageway beyond. Lt. Curtis led the way through the room, past a second heavy door on its far side and into the passage way. The tour narration resumed.

“The companionway to the left leads back down to the lower deck. There you will find crew quarters, a large head with showers and the crew's dayroom. Forward of the dayroom are the officer's quarters and guest staterooms. This ship was designed as both a research vessel and a private yacht. If you have time I can show you the owner's stateroom after we visit the bridge. It is quite something.”

The hallway was done in pleasant, natural colors with indirect lighting running along the sides of the ceiling and short napped carpet on the floor. Doorways pierced the walls at irregular intervals, though these were not nearly as heavily built as the pair of doors they entered through.

“These doors don't look very nautical,” Susan remarked, “and they aren't heavy like the ones we came through from the cargo hold.”

“Good observation, Ma'am. The pair of doors opening onto the cargo hold are airtight. Together they form an airlock so that we still have access to the cargo area even when the hold is open to vacuum. There are a number of other airlocks that allow direct access to the exterior as well.”

Susan nodded, assimilating data. Getting the details right was what made a news story believable. And as her knowledge of West Texas trivia showed, Susan had a mind for details.

“By not looking nautical I presume you mean that the interior doors don't look like the watertight doors on a naval vessel, with high thresholds and a way to dog them shut.” Lt. Curtis continued. “This is a spaceship and not intended to sail upon the briny deep. Hopefully we will never have to deal with water flooding this ship's interior spaces.” Again the hint of a smile.

Susan was getting the impression that Lt. Curtis had a rather sarcastic sense of humor, though she wasn't quite sure their tour guide was laughing at her or not. Sarcastic wit was something the reporter appreciated, since she possessed a similar sense of humor. “Well that explains it! I guess with all the navy jargon I was expecting a more nautical motif,” she said brightly.

The First Officer looked at her unperturbed, then slowly raised a single eyebrow, much like Mr. Spock from the original Star Trek TV series.
If she says
‘
fascinating
’
I'll burst out laughing,
Susan thought, stiffing an urge to giggle.

Turning back toward the bow, the tour resumed. “To the right is the sick bay. It is equipped with state-of-the-art equipment including CAT scan, MRI, automated blood and tissue analysis, toxicology screening and robot assisted surgery. There is also dental and optometry equipment. The ship's pharmacy is stocked with most common drugs and medicines plus a supply of frozen plasma.”

“Across the way are electronic and mechanical engineering labs, equipped to repair or fabricate needed equipment. Not open to direct access from the passageway are bays that hold external sensors—telescopes, antennae, radar, LIDAR, and FLIR pods that can be extended beyond the hull once the ship is in space. And this...” they had come to a door blocking the hallway.

Lt. Curtis operated the control next to the door and it slid into the wall out of sight. The party stepped from the passageway, up a short flight of stairs and into a large room that spanned the entire width of the ship.

 “...this is the mess and lounge area.”

Col. Atkins arrived at the AFTAC Command Center, his uniform neat but smelling of barbeque and wood smoke. He sat quietly as the Major brought him up to speed on the rapidly developing situation in West Texas.

“It turns out the Marines have a squad and an MV-22 parked at  Mathis Field, in San Angelo, showing the flag at an airshow. The Marines are armed but have no live ammo, the air show being strictly a dog and pony show. Mathis is only a few miles away from Goodfellow and they are sending an SF detail with six ammo cans of 5.56 and eight 200 round SAW magazines—that's more than 6,000 rounds.” Maj. Bledsoe paused and looked up. “Are we expecting heavy resistance?”

“Strictly a precaution. Besides, you know the Marines, can't pack enough ammo to make them happy,” the Colonel chuckled. “Are they on the way yet? What's their estimated TOA?”

“The Security Force people have just arrived at the air show. We are in contact with the Osprey's flight crew and they are running down the Lieutenant in charge of the squad of Marines. We've briefed the flight crew as to their destination and what to expect. As soon as the Marine LT gets on board they will depart. We'll brief the ground unit while they are in the air.”

“Great, good work people. What about the local authorities and the Feds?”

“They have been contacted and are sending the local Marshal, some Texas Highway patrolmen, and, I kid you not, a Texas Ranger. The Ranger is hitching a helo ride with some U.S. Marshals from San Antonio. We also have FBI out of San Antonio and BATF from both Fort Worth and El Paso. This guy's ranch is at least 250 miles from anywhere so the Feds will be arriving late. The Marines will probably be on station about the same time as the local yokels.”

“Sounds good.” The Colonel then addressed the others present in the room: “Listen up people. The plan is for the Marines to seize the
‘
spaceship
’
or whatever is in the hangar,
and hold the site until FBI and Homeland Security personnel can get there. They are not authorized to arrest anyone and we don't want any
posse comitatus
blow-back.”

The original 1878 Posse Comitatus Act was passed with the intent of removing the Army from domestic law enforcement. Posse comitatus, which means “the power of the county,” is viewed by many as a major barrier to the use of U.S. military forces in domestic security operations. In reality, it is more of a procedural formality than an actual impediment to the use of the military in homeland defense.  

Since 1980, there had been ample authority to employ military personnel in homeland defense when there was a threat involving weapons of mass destruction. Since a Pinnacle event is by definition nuclear in nature and there was the possibly of some form of weapon, the Pentagon OK'd the use of military force to seize whatever had emitted the radiation AFTAC's satellites had detected.

Even so,
the Colonel thought,
best not to ruffle the local authorities' feathers. Authorized or not, God, please don't let them shoot any civilians.
“Major, make sure those Jar Heads understand the mission—secure the target with minimal force and hold for the arrival of domestic federal agents.”

GySgt Rodriguez had been keeping an eye on her Marines from the shade of one of the Osprey’s short wings when the Air Force came screeching up in a blue Humvee. An overly excited military police Lieutenant hopped out of the Humvee and ran over to the aircraft demanding to know who was in charge. Rodriguez saluted the officer and replied that their LT had hit the head and would be back momentarily and could she be of any assistance?

“Sergeant, we got a call from somebody in the Pentagon telling us we needed to get some small arms ammunition to a group of Marines over at the airport. I guess that means you.”

“Well Lieutenant, we are the only Marines around here so we must be it. You have any idea as to why the Pentagon suddenly thinks we need live ammo at an airshow, Sir?”

“I don't know, Sergeant, but I got my orders. And somebody has to sign for this stuff.”

“Well, that I can handle,” the Gunny said, accepting the clipboard from the agitated Air Force officer. She signed the receipt and then shouted over her shoulder, “Sanchez, Reagan, Davis! Relieve our blue brethren of their burden and store the cans on board.”

“Hey look, Sanchez!” shouted Davis, “the Zoomies brought you some ammo.”

“Damn, I didn't know the Chair Force delivered,” Sanchez replied, taking two ammo cans from an SF Airman at the back of the Humvee.