The Black Ships (23 page)
Fort Knox, Kentucky
April 28
th
, 2027
S
ometimes consensus got it right. Adam Sundin took an involuntary
step backwards as the crew hatch slid open. Despite the intervening centuries
between the concealment of the alien ship and its arrival deep beneath the
famous gold depository, he still half-expected to see a small hand appear at
the edge of the opening. He began to relax slightly.
They had been right in their theory. The
small hatch on the underside of the fifteen-foot-wide vessel was for an
induction-power umbilical. Now that the vessel had a charge, its systems were
coming to life.
Adam stepped over to the hatch, pulling a
mini penlight from his back pocket and shining it through the opening. Five
small desiccated corpses lay on the floor, a black smear from the hatch leading
to one of the bodies indicating that one of the aliens may have been bleeding
as it was placed in the ship. “Shit!” He nearly jumped out of his skin as he
felt the tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Dr. Will Francis decked out in
full biohazard gear.
“Sorry, Adam.” Will grinned. “You better wait
over by the door. When the decon shower is set up, we can get you processed and
then you’ll have to serve a quarantine.”
“I need to decontaminate?” Adam looked
nervously at the open hatch. “Doc, it’s been centuries. You don’t really think
there’s a problem, do you?”
The older man shrugged. “The original work
on the Roswell ship was before my time but they had no precautions back then
and one of the researchers ended up killing most of his home town over the
Christmas holidays.” His eyes wandered to the exit as he spoke. A team was
setting up a modular decontamination shower around the door to the large lab.
“He carried an incredibly virulent bug home with him and only five people out
of more than three hundred managed to survive. The government put out the story
that it was a gas leak from the local coal mines.”
He reached out and put a comforting hand on
Adam’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, that bug was carried by a completely different
species. We’ll lock you up, just to be sure, but chances are slim that anything
would survive for centuries without a host.” He spread his hands in a gesture
of resignation. “We never expected the hatch to open. I should have insisted
that you suit up.”
If I’m stuck down here for a while, I
might as well make myself useful
, Adam thought as
he looked out the lab window at the work crew. “Will, I might as well keep
working during the quarantine,” he suggested. “I can wear a suit from my
quarters to get to the lab and just decon the suit on my way back.” For an
engineer, it would be absolute torture to sit on a bunk forty feet away from
the most exotic engines on the planet and not get a chance to ferret out their
secrets.
Dr. Francis thought the proposal through
and nodded. “No reason why not,” he responded cheerfully. “We want to adapt
this technology as soon as we can.” He paused for a moment to recheck his
assumptions, then nodded again. “Absolutely. Let’s do that.” He smiled at Adam.
“Without you around, I tend to overcomplicate things. We need you if we’re
going to figure these engines out.”
New York Harbor
April 28
th
, 2027
“C
an’t sleep?” Ellen reached over and took Frank’s hand.
“Just thinking about my current employer,”
he answered quietly. The walls here didn’t do a very good job of stopping
sound. “Maybe it’s time to let go of the past. The U.N. that got Dad killed
doesn’t really exist anymore.” He sighed. “Not sure this new version is any
better, but it'll do for now.”
Much had changed over the last year, but the
blast had more impact than any other factor in changing the organization. So
few had survived the explosion that they were able to live and work at the
Ellis Island facilities with room to spare. The island that had welcomed
countless thousands of immigrants to the New World now played host to the
representatives of their original homelands.
Within a week, the General Assembly had
reconvened in the great hall of the main building and the business of defending
Earth was back in hand, thanks largely to logistics units from the New York
National Guard and the US Navy. There was a decidedly military feeling
throughout the island and Frank couldn’t shake the feeling that the institution
had permanently changed. Many of their programs had been cast adrift in the
aftermath of the attack. The bureaucracies that had administered them had
simply ceased to exist. Staff, records, computer systems, all were destroyed in
a heartbeat and there simply wasn’t enough people, money or time to resurrect
them.
What remained was an organization of
diplomats focused on the new fleets and on the various global economies. Few
were allowed to leave the island. Soldiers patrolled the grounds and the Navy
patrolled the harbor. Though the Navy was publicly there to secure the new, temporary
U.N. headquarters, they were really there to prevent another attack from
devastating the heavily-populated region. Thousands of Americans had died on
that cold January afternoon and the military was making it abundantly clear
that no subsequent attacks would stand a ghost of a chance at success.
There was no talk about returning to the
old site. It had originally been chosen for its metropolitan amenities. The
attack had revealed the dangers of placing such a controversial guest in the
midst of a huge population. Other options that had existed in the past quickly
disappeared as well. Cities like Singapore, Montreal and St. Petersburg, who
had actively lobbied to host the General Assembly, suddenly decided that the
security risk wasn’t worth the prestige. Locations that had been offered
throughout America in the ‘50s were also off the table.
After decades of
other
nations
questioning the location of the Secretariat, Americans were in full agreement:
nobody wanted the U.N. to remain in the United States.
Wherever they went, it would have to be
someplace remote, someplace easy to secure and far from innocent civilians. The
idea had chilled Frank as he lay awake in the dark. Just before Ellen had begun
to stir, he had pictured a cabal of diplomats on some Caribbean island with a
fleet in orbit and their hands on the economies of every nation.
“I’m through with hating them for what they
did to my Dad, but I’m not sure I like what they’re turning into.” He turned to
look at his wife, just visible in the moonlight that came through the
threadbare curtains.
“I don’t much like what I’ve been seeing
here either,” she said softly, “but laying awake all night isn’t going to help
change anything, is it?”
He chuckled. “Gives me something to do when
I wake up worrying about work. Better than wondering if we should be bringing
kids into a world that’s this messed up.”
Her laugh carried a playful undertone that
never failed to capture Frank’s interest. “If you’re looking for something to
do while you can’t sleep,” she purred as she moved closer, “we can work on your
second question…”
An hour later, he finally got started on a
good night’s sleep.
Sixty
Meter Observatory
Mauna
Kea, Hawaii
April 28
th
, 2027
C
orporal Farquhar tapped Mike on the shoulder. “Hey Mike, this stuff
showed up at the front gate with your name on it.” His eyebrows raised when he
got a look at the new team member. Mickey, or Michelle, was anything but
ordinary. When considered in isolation, few of her features would be labeled attractive.
Her nose would be called pointy, her eyes small and unremarkable and her mouth
was a thin line set above a slightly jutting chin. The cart behind Rob was
completely forgotten.
In much the same way that seemingly random
splashes of paint produced beautiful works of impressionist art, Mickey’s
features came together to produce an impression of lively beauty. Mike had
always been able to view her with a neutral eye because of the close family tie
and they had grown up as best friends. He wondered if the same features would
be as attractive on a woman who didn’t possess the same spirit as his cousin.
He knew that men tended to see her as a hot
geek. Her looks gave the impression of someone who enjoyed science fiction and
computer games. Though it was unfair to make such a connection, it
was
correct in this case. Mickey was every nerd’s wildest dream come true, plus
forty percent.
“Thanks, Rob, let’s just pile it
right here for now.” Mike and Mickey both got up to help. “Rob, this is my
cousin, Michelle.” He tended to use her full name for introductions.
“Just call me Mickey,” she said as she
strolled over to the cart, pulling the manifest from the clipboard on top.
“Looks like you’re planning to build one
hell of a system with all this gear.” Rob was moving eight-foot sections of
extruded aluminum beams to make a neat pile beside the cart. “Those quantum
cores still don’t come cheap and they’ve been on the market for almost a year
now. Schrödingers cost more than my car. ”
Mickey looked up from her list. “You know
your way around a custom build?”
Rob gave a modest shrug. “I haven’t had my
hands on anything like
this
,” he said, hefting a processor case with a
picture of a cat in a wooden box on the front. “But I usually build my own
computers rather than wait for the big companies to catch up.”
“Go Army,” said Mickey with a friendly
grin. “You wanna help put this together?”
His face lit up like Christmas morning.
“Are you kidding me? Are we starting right now?”
Mike smiled to himself; Rob had been a bit
of a mess since learning that aliens had been in contact with his ancestors.
This new enthusiasm was a pleasant change. Given Rob’s love of computers, Mike
wasn’t quite sure how much of his new attitude was entirely due to the quantum
processors. He figured part of it might be due to his cousin’s impressionist
beauty but that was a question for them to figure out on their own.
Mickey smiled at Rob’s response. “Well,
Mike was going to take me over to the mess tent for lunch and meet the rest of
the team first. Why don’t you come along?”
The young corporal looked down at the parts
for a moment, then back up with a smile. “Sure, I’m kind of hungry, now that I
think about it.”
Maybe it’s 50/50,
Mike thought as they headed for the large heated tent that served as
a cafeteria for the mountain-top staff.
He seemed a little
disappointed to leave the fancy gadgets but he seems happy enough to join us.
Anyway, it’s none of my business.
Edwards Air Force Base
Flight Test Center, Nevada
June 27
th
, 2027
F
rank stepped down from his Gulfstream and looked at the buildings
that stood in the hazy distance. He knew it was foolish but he half-expected to
see tiny green men wandering between the hangars. This detachment of Edwards
Air Force Base (or perhaps Nellis Air Force Base – he still wasn’t sure) was
deeply entrenched in the public psyche. Commonly referred to as Area 51, the
small base was first established by the CIA in 1955 to support
Project
Aquatone
, the development of the Lockheed U2 spy plane.
Over the years, it played host to a number
of aircraft development programs as well as the evaluation of foreign fighters
including several captured Soviet MiGs. That all served merely as a colorful
background to the wildly popular theory that alien aircraft and personnel were
kept there for study. The secrecy of the base, understandable given its
purpose, did little to dissuade the conspiracy theorists and each passing year
brought new and more fantastic tales.
Frank was amazed at how difficult it had
been to get clearance to land here at all. He had been obliged to stop at
Nellis AFB, on the fringe of Las Vegas, and pick up two Air Force captains as
well as two operators from the Air Force’s Special Operations Command who were
armed with what appeared to be highly compact and deadly descendants of the
venerable M-16 assault rifle that Frank had used in the Florida National Guard.
Herman Brecker, Frank’s body guard, had
been required to hand over his own arsenal for the duration of the visit and he
had reluctantly agreed, knowing that his principle was likely to be safe while
on such a secure base. Frank’s flight crew had been asked to sit in the
passenger compartment and the two Air Force officers took the controls for the
short hop from Nellis to Groom Lake, taxiing the aircraft to the south end of
the western-most runway, farthest away from the base facilities.
He turned to follow one of the
captains towards a large temporary structure at the end of the runway. A group
of men stood in the shade cast by the building, a mix of uniforms and civilian
clothing. As the introductions were nearing the end, a radio chirped to life,
initiating a conversation with one of the majors in the small group.
“Alright, we have confirmation,” he
announced to the group. “The test window is now open, no eyes are on us for the
next two and a half hours.”
Frank was no astronomer but he knew that
Mars wouldn’t see this side of the planet until shortly after nightfall. The
window was probably concerned with the United States’ rivals on Earth as well.
Not
sure why we have to bother, since we plan to hand these babies over to the UN
Fleet anyway,
Frank thought as the large doors slid open to reveal the
hastily-adapted V-22.
Looking like a cross between a helicopter
and a C-140 Hercules, the V-22 could carry a full platoon or up to twenty
thousand pounds of cargo. This modified version would first have to prove that
it could, at the very least, carry itself. The massive prop nacelles as well as
the two six-thousand-horsepower engines had been removed and replaced
with the new
Anasazi
system, named for the civilization that had
captured them from the enemy so long ago.
The new thruster nacelles were grafted onto
the original wings. They were ring shaped and roughly six feet in diameter.
“This is just half the propulsion system.” A man had wandered over to Frank as
the hybrid aircraft was wheeled out of the hangar by a ground crew tractor. He
extended his hand. “Adam Sundin.” He smiled as they shook, nodding at Frank’s
name as if he had known it before coming over. “I helped to build this engine,”
he said as he watched the preparation.
“The other half would be the thruster
units?” Frank was noticing the various points where the fuselage had been
sliced open to allow for protruding elements of the new power plant.
“So you’ve read the briefing paper from Dr.
Francis?” He carried on as if Frank hadn’t, perhaps too excited about his
project to resist talking about it. “These thrusters interact with the magnetic
field. Gravity is actually one of the weakest forces in the Universe and
magnetism can kick gravity’s ass any day of the week.” The young engineer
stopped for a moment as the wings began to rotate into the flight position.
“With a little help from our dead aliens, we finally managed to build an engine
that wouldn’t steal the silverware from every house in a hundred-mile radius.”
“So once you prove this technology, you’ll
add on the rocket-based thrusters for maneuvering outside of the planet’s
magnetosphere?” Frank asked politely.
I’ve read the paper, remember? Tell me
something I don’t know.
“How stable are the magnetic anomalies on Mars?”
“The thrusters are an easy addition,” he
paused to sneeze. “Faster to do this one thing at a time rather than trying to troubleshoot
two propulsion systems simultaneously.” The wings locked into flight position.
In storage they could rotate 90 degrees to align with the fuselage. “The
anomalies are strongest where huge patches of magnetized material sit near the
surface. Those areas tend to be the best sites to look for minerals so it’s no
wonder the space monkeys use this type of engine for landings.”
Frank wasn’t sure what he thought of the
new slang for the aliens. Since they had tails, it had probably been just a
matter of time before the name came up. He had the uneasy feeling that history
would come to look back on the term in much the same way that it now looked at
the denigrating cartoons of Japanese and German soldiers from the forties.
Frank’s own grandfather had shipped off to the Pacific expecting an easy
victory but soon learned the difference. The marines had fought hard for every
inch of ground taken.
“If there’s no magnetic field,” the
young engineer continued, “there probably isn’t any life anyway. If there are
huge mineral deposits, chances are they produce enough of a localized magnetic
field to let these engines overcome gravity.”
“Looks like we’re ready to start.” Frank
nodded towards the ground crew who were moving away from the aircraft. “Let’s
go join the rest of the group.” They moved over to a small canopy where a bank
of telemetry equipment was set up, just as a throbbing whine began to emanate
from the test vehicle.
A man sat at a terminal labeled ‘flight
control’ wearing a headset and looking intently at the readout in front of him.
“Roger,
Anasazi One
,” he said in a crisp voice. “You are green across
the board. We are go for five percent power.”
The whine increased slightly and Adam
suddenly clutched Frank’s shoulder. “Look at that,” he hissed. “Only five
percent and the wheels are bouncing off the ground.” As they watched, the
modified V-22 rocked slightly as the pilot attempted to keep it steady.
“Still green, you are go to move to ten
percent power,” the flight controller announced over the headset. Without any
appreciable change in sound, the thirty-thousand-pound chimera lifted off the
ground and began to float gently upwards and slightly backwards. “Learning
gradient at fifty percent, sixty-five, eighty, gradient complete,” the man
announced, still having seen nothing but the screen. The aircraft could have
been at Pensacola for all he cared.
Anasazi One
leveled off and hovered.
“Power output stabilized at 6.3% by gradient software.”
“The control system had to calibrate in
actual flight,” Adam explained in a low voice. He had finally released his
death grip on Frank’s shoulder. “The best thing we could come up with was to
define the entire operating envelope as it compares to level hovering. Now that
we’ve calibrated a hover state, the rest should work.
“Go for forward flight,” the controller
announced.
The nacelles began to rotate slightly, one
forward and one backwards.
Anasazi One
began to spin gently rather than
gliding forward.
“Oh, dear,” the young engineer muttered.
“That’s my bad folks. Sorry!” The pilot brought the vehicle back to hover mode
and Adam displaced one of the techs at a terminal marked ‘Firmware’. He opened
a screen and selected a sub menu. With a simple click of a button he turned to
the controller. “Try that, Igor.”
This time, the vehicle moved forward at a
steady pace. “Got a control subroutine mixed up but it’s an easy fix, provided
the aircraft is still under control.” Adam didn’t seem terribly worried and it
did seem to be a relatively small hiccup considering that they were watching an
aircraft that could theoretically reach orbit several times on a single fuel
cell.
“How long until we see something more
exciting?” The thrill of the moment had worn off for Frank and he was already
turning his thoughts to the conversion of the two hundred similar airframes
that currently sat in storage.
Adam consulted a binder on a table behind
them. “Slow and steady brings the test pilot home for dinner,” he intoned
cheerily. “Looks like we don’t go above twenty feet until after lunch.”
It’s going to be a long day,
thought Frank. After all the fuss to get here, it was hard for him
to simply wave and walk away. He felt bad for his aircrew, who were cooped up
in the jet under guard.
I could say I need to leave for their sake,
he
mused.
He walked over to one of the captains who
had joined him at Nellis. “We should hit the road next time that thing is on
the ground,” he said, noticing the man looked disappointed at the idea of
missing aviation history. “We left my flight crew in the plane and didn’t even
crack the windows. We should get moving before the SPCA takes them away on us.”
The man nodded reluctantly and walked over
to clear their takeoff with the test controller.
Now we won’t have to spend the night in
a hotel before flying home tomorrow.
He suddenly
realized his mistake.
Now the crew, Herm and I won’t have an excuse to spend
the night in Vegas.
He shook his head in disgust. “Fabulous,” he muttered.
“Thanks, Frank.” Adam was gazing up at his
pride and joy as it slowly crabbed sideways.