Prophet of ConFree (The Prophet of ConFree) (22 page)

"But – why doesn't everybody know this? Why isn't it in the history books?"

"Nobody knew about it. This happened in Earth's prehistory – or very early history. And it was only recently that the genetic proof was recognized for what it was. And only in ConFree was the truth recognized, rather than suppressed."

"So, these – Wanderers – have returned? That was their ship?"

"No. No. It's a lot more complex than that, my dear Prophet."

"How so?"

"These ships represent the technology of the Wanderers, but that technology is shared with other races – other alien beings. We don't know a lot about them, but we know a little. Some of these aliens are what we would call benevolent – and others are not. But they are all technologically superior to us."

"Deadman! Why are they here?"

"Exactly, Prophet. That is the question. Why are they here?"

"What happened to the Wanderers? Where did they go?"

"We do not have sufficient data to answer that question yet, Prophet. We can only say that they – and those other aliens I mentioned – disappeared completely from our galaxy in the very distant past."

"And now they're back."

"Precisely. More dox?"

Δ

"We need earplugs around here," Arie said. It was true. We were in Recon Bay, which was a giant interior hanger chock full of huge black birds – I didn't know whether I was supposed to refer to them as aircraft or spacecraft because they were both. Ear-shattering noise echoed through the hanger, bursts of savage energy that lit us all up with flickering white light, and a giant slamming sound that rattled the decks. People in sleeveless tops and grey fatigues were swarming over the ships.

"Gentlemen." It was Bird. I think that's what he said, but I was not sure. Bird was a young Outworlder with sandy hair and grey eyes, medium height, medium weight – an everyman. He was wearing a coverall spattered with slick. "Welcome to my world."

"We want to see the new ship," Arie shouted.

"Easily done," Bird said. "Follow me." Actually we didn't particularly want to see the new ship. We wanted to learn more about Bird. He had been with us since Hell, but we had learned very little about him. He spent virtually all his time with his air wing, working on his ship, and had very little time for the squad that he was assigned to support. He seemed a dependable fellow – he was always there when we needed insertion or pickup – but Arie and I both agreed that we wanted to know more about him. The rest of the squad felt the same.

"Behold Ruthie," Bird said, so loudly that we could hear him over the noise. He stood before his ship. "This is my new girl. She's the latest generation Phantom. The old one was held together with superglue and a prayer. I thought it wise not to inform you of that at the time. I spent all my time working on that damned abortion. I fixed her up nice. I restored her virginity. Whoever inherits her will have no cares. But this is my new love – Ruthie."

The name was written on its nose, with a full color snap of a hot little blonde honey in very short shorts. "Ruthie now belongs to squad Delta," he said. "You won't find a more dependable girl. She's hot, she's mean, she's a flying machine. She's fully cloaked, an invisible girl."

The ship was immense – the skin was jet black and curiously oily. I touched it and it was cold. It appeared to be roughly delta-shaped, but it was hard to tell. Bird touched a control and a crash door slid open along the side of the beast. Web seats lined the fuselage, with a narrow aisle down the centerline.

"She carries enough ordnance to blow away a whole city," Bird continued, "and she can carry a whole squad and more if necessary. Her antimat engine will run forever. No, she can’t do a star hop, but deliver her to the target vicinity and she can slip in undetected, drop off your squad, hover invisibly overhead, support you in an instant with overwhelming firepower if you need it, and pick you up – again invisibly – and be off in a flash. She flies in the vac like a meteor, she flies in the air like a bird and floats like a butterfly. She can even float on the water should you desire her to do so."

"Nice!" I said. "Hey, I noticed a crudely scrawled sign just outside your main door that said
BUS DRIVERS ONLY
. What was that all about?"

Bird laughed. "Oh, that was the fighter jocks. Their hanger is next door. They're just jealous because these Phantoms are more advanced than their fighters. They're all idiots. I know because I used to be one."

"An idiot?" Arie asked brightly.

Bird laughed again. "Good one! No, a fighter pilot. I was with the non-idiot air wing."

"You were a fighter pilot?" I asked. A gigantic shriek filled the hanger, It sounded as if somebody was testing an engine – one wall was evidently set up to enable that. It glowed white-hot.

"Let's go somewhere quieter," Bird said.

Δ

We regrouped in the Recon Bay rec room the next deck down. It was a comfortable little place, pretty well soundproofed from the chaos upstairs. We picked up snacks and dox from an autoserve and settled down around a little table. The walls were covered with action pix of Phantoms and spacecraft and insertions and pickups.

"So you started as a fighter pilot?" I asked again.

"No, I started as a student on Quaba. Got degrees in aeronautical engineering, spaceflight engineering, air-space engineering and maritime engineering. I worked for some of the big firms, mostly doing spaceflight engineering. I loved flying and flew whenever I could. Finally they started using me as a test pilot. Those were fun times! I was either flying or designing new craft – spacecraft and starfighters. "

"Man!" Arie exclaimed. "How long did all that take? You're a young guy, right?"

He smiled. "No, I'm a bit older than you folks."

"How did you get to be a fighter pilot?"

"Well, that wasn't until later. First I got tired of working as a small cog in a huge machine so I got out and started up my own design firm."

"Your own firm! So you were the boss?"

"Yep. Took a few years but I had some good ideas that I knew would work, so I went to work – with some young and brilliant colleagues that I could depend on – and we were very successful. We produced a high-performance craft that could function in space, air, and on or under water. A submersible air and spacecraft. The military and the spooks in Galactic Information loved it. That was our first big success. After that, we worked on updating these Phantoms. That worked out, too – another big government contract. And we had plenty of other projects as well."

"That's amazing! Well – you must have gotten rich!"

"Oh, filthy rich. We're all set up for life."

"But – um – how did you get to be a fighter pilot?"

"Well, I told you I loved flying. I volunteered for Fleetcom. They gave me a commission. And next thing I knew I was flying fighters. That was my real love. But Fleetcom decided they wanted me working on the Phantoms because that was my expertise, as they knew it. So I took the transfer. I don't mind being a bus driver. I love the Phantom. And Fleetcom checks with me often with questions that arise."

"One thing I don't get," I said. "You said you were wealthy – filthy rich, you said. So you could have stayed home in your palace, presumably, counting your credits and enjoying life with as many girls as you wanted – for the rest of your life. Right?"

"Right. But wrong. I could have done that, but I didn’t. I'm not made like that. I've got to be doing things. I've got to be creating things – worthwhile things. Things that will contribute to my society, to my culture, to my people. I have to help."

"You’re a millionaire?"

"Many times over."

"What is the name of your firm?"

"Matheson Engineering."

"Good lord! I've seen those words on the interior of the Phantoms. Matheson Engineering!"

"Well, sure. We design and manufacture them. And I'm Ken Matheson, the founder of the firm."

"Who's taking care of the company for you while you're here?"

"One of my partners. He checks with me on any major issues."

"He's a millionaire, too?"

"Yep. Are you surprised he's still working?"

"Maybe a little," I said.

"Well, don't be. Our people are extraordinary. And when I say 'our people' I don't mean people that work for my firm. I mean people who are citizens or nationals of ConFree. I've done a lot of travel in my professional capacity and seen how people live and work and act, in our society and in plenty of other societies – especially those ex-system worlds that are structured differently than we are. I can assure you that ConFree is superior to all those societies in every way. It's the difference between being a slave and being a free man. I know a lot of wealthy people in ConFree as well, and I can assure you that most of them are not lying around enjoying the good life. A lot of people who are born into this society do not really appreciate it and maybe do not pay attention to what is going on around them. But some people do. You know what a lot of newly wealthy people do? Or even people who are moderately well off and don't have to worry too much about making a living? They look around for something to do – that's the first thing that they do. And that's because ConFree has educated them that way. We all feel good when we're doing something worthwhile. The free people of ConFree are an amazing bunch. They are almost all experts in something or other and if they're not doing something active for the society, they are becoming experts in whatever hobby or subject that has attracted them. And sooner or later that hobby or subject develops into something worthwhile."

"Well, here's to the Bird," I said, raising my dox cup. "We're glad you're here. And I agree with what you just said. I was born into ConFree but I didn't appreciate it until I joined the Legion."

Bird smiled, a bit sadly. "Yes, that's where most of our citizens come from – from the military. That's because of our history. If you weren't in the military in those days, you were not fighting for our survival. But things have changed now. National service takes many forms, now. There are millions of ConFree citizens who have never served in the military. But their contributions are invaluable, and that's why they are citizens. They made me a citizen before I signed up for Fleetcom. But you don't have to design a spacecraft to become a citizen. Teach a child, that's one way. Nurse the sick, that's another. Patrol the streets as a policeman or rescue a child as a fireman. There are a growing number of ways to earn your citizenship in ConFree. But they all involve national service, shaping the future. The difference between a ConFree citizen and a ConFree national is the citizen is shaping the future and the national is just along for the ride. But anyone can become a citizen, with a little effort. You want a voice in our future? Contribute! Serve the Supreme Commander. And you know who that is – a mother and her kids. They're handing out little medallions now, national service medallions, indicating citizenship. The image on the little medallion shows an anonymous mother and three kids. It’s just like a religious icon – it’s perfect! That's what we worship."

"You're obviously an enthusiast," I said. "So tell us – who is Ruthie?"

"Ah, you've zeroed in on my weakness. She's the girl I left behind. There are plenty of memories there, all good. But she's in the past. I remember her every day."

"Yeah, I've got one of those, too," I admitted.

"So do I," Arie said.

Δ

We were seeing more and more of those mysterious alien ships in the Gulf. The Professor told me about it. It wasn't in the news yet; the ConFree public presumably didn't know about it yet, but it was big news out here. The four cruisers of the
Andrion Deep
were kept quite busy. The
Wasp
didn't run into too many of these alien ships, but we did pursue a few when we were within range. They were always in normal vac and they always disappeared – popping right off scope – shortly after we exited stardrive.

"It means they detect our exit from stardrive," the Prof said. "That's a worry because we spent billions to muffle the exit signature to virtual invisibility, but it's not working with these ships. They are aware of our exit from stardrive and for all we know they may be able to see right through our cloaking as well." We were in the science library. The Prof had been encouraging me to improve my mind, and tutoring me in the little spare time we had from our official duties.

"What are they up to, Prof?" I asked.

"Recon. It's clearly recon. Lately we’ve had reports of landings – from quite a few Gulf worlds. We can't make any conclusions about what they're after or why they choose the worlds they do. But they’re landing, and exiting their craft, and walking around. They don’t stay long. It's almost as if they're picking worlds at random, and poking around to see what’s there. There are no dependable eyewitnesses yet to describe these aliens, but a few locals have gone missing in the aftermath of these landings, and that's a worry."

"A worry? That's terrifying! Some innocent is minding his own business and suddenly he's snatched up by aliens? What are the Gulf governments doing about this?"

"Well, most of the sightings and landings have been in either the Gulf frontier sector – which no government controls – or in the Pegal Stelcom or the Gulf Union. The Asumara Holy Commune has not yet reported any sightings. Neither the Stelcom nor the Union has seen fit to inform its peoples about these incidents. And neither has any plans to deal with the issue, as far as we can tell. They're probably hoping the ships will go away if they ignore them."