Saucer: The Conquest

12

The disaster that had claimed the three French spaceplanes was the topic of considerable conversation between Mission Control in France and Pierre Artois on the moon. Newton Chadwick listened on the battery-operated encoded radio in the Roswell saucer and passed on what he heard to his two colleagues. All of the conversation was in French and unintelligible to Egg Cantrell. From Chadwick's reaction, he could tell that the news was bad.

When the radio had finally fallen silent, Chadwick and his colleagues discussed what they had heard for half an hour, and finally Chadwick shared what he had learned with Egg.

"A disaster. The orbital refueling tank exploded when the second of the two ships bound for the moon was refueling. The explosion was actually seen over Japan in the hours before dawn. The tank and that ship were destroyed. The crew of the tanker, which had carried the fuel aloft, thought they saw another ship in the vicinity, but they couldn't be sure. It was black and saucer-shaped. They immediately fired their engines for a reentry, and talked to Mission Control before they entered the atmosphere and lost radio contact.

That ship crashed somewhere in the Pacific, Mission Control believes."

He sighed. "No one knows what happened to the third ship. There were several garbled radio transmissions, which the agency is studying, trying to decipher. An oil tanker in the western Pacific reported a large object — they thought it was a meteor — penetrating the atmosphere at a steep angle and burning up a few minutes before dawn."

"Saucer-shaped?"

"A saucer!" Chadwick made a face. "The American news media reports that the saucer housed in the National Air and Space Museum in Washington was stolen in midmorn-ing, several hours before the disaster aloft. An extraordinary coincidence that must somehow be explained."

"Stolen?" Egg said, his disbelief evident in his voice.

"Of course not!" Chadwick replied acidly. "The American government obviously sent that saucer aloft to attack the spaceplanes while they were still in earth orbit. What kind of weapon the saucer used is unknown." He stared into Egg's eyes. "Is there a weapon on this saucer?"

Egg blinked and managed to look surprised. There was the antiproton beam on the saucer from the Sahara, of course, but— Naw! Certainly not! No one knew of it except Rip and Charley. No one in the government—

"Don't be absurd," Egg said sharply. "Do you really think the government converted this saucer to a weapons platform? If they did, where is it?" He made a show of looking around the compartment. "This thing has been sitting in an abandoned hangar in Nevada for how many years?"

Chadwick was thinking — Egg could see that. Obviously he hadn't learned of the antiproton beam in his exploration of this saucer's computer or he wouldn't even have asked the question. In fact, Egg had only discovered its existence from studying the schematics. Chadwick wasn't an engineer; he just wanted to get rich and live forever.

"How could the American government install a space weapon on a museum artifact in a few days?" Egg asked. "Do you think they bolted it onto the belly? Or put it inside here and cut a porthole in the leading edge to shoot through?"

"I think you know something you aren't telling me," Chadwick said, still gazing intently at Egg's face.

"Think what you please," Egg grunted, and floated toward the toilet facility.

As soon as he had the door closed he put his hands on his face, trying to compose himself.

He didn't know if this saucer had a weapon on it — he hadn't asked the computer. He wondered if Chadwick would. All he had to do was put on the headband and ask. If he knew enough to ask. In his explorations of the computer's memory, Egg had spent months wandering along, poking here and there, completely on his own, before one day the thought occurred to him to ask the computer for the information he wanted. Then data spewed forth like an Oklahoma gusher.

What if this saucer did have an antimatter weapon of some sort and Chadwick learned of it? So what? They were on their way to the moon.

Given a moment to think about it, Egg put two and two together. If Rip's saucer had indeed flown again, Rip and Charley Pine were in it.

Were they still alive? Were they safe?

If anything happened to them…

When he had himself completely under control, Egg opened the door and floated out into the main compartment. Chadwick had strapped himself to the pilot's seat and was wearing the headband.

The news of the loss of the spaceplanes hit Pierre hard. He had bet his quest — indeed, his life and Julie's life— on the fact that his friends could get control of the French spaceport and continue to fly the spaceplanes to and from the earth. He was sure the French government would fold— he knew most of the ministers personally. They weren't gamblers, they were politicians. They read the papers, were acutely attuned to the public mood and strove mightily to stay in front of the parade so they would appear to be leading. If the public could be persuaded, the politicians would go along, and Pierre knew how to sway the French public. Honor, glory, for the good of all mankind, which would be united under a French banner. The appeal would be irresistible.

And, mon Dieu! It worked.

Except for that Charley Pine. Stealing the spaceplane from the moon, stranding them.

He wondered if she had flown the saucer that attacked the three spaceplanes in orbit. His gut told him yes. She would do that.

It would take at least two years to build another space-plane and test it, even on an expedited schedule. Then another fuel tank would have to be placed in earth orbit and filled with fuel before a spaceplane could make a trip to the moon filled with supplies.

The lunar base was not self-sustaining, as he well knew. Oh, there was indeed water, but the hydroponic gardens would not sustain the forty-two people who were here. Make that forty-six, for four more were coming on Chadwick's saucer. Nor were the complex carbon-based compounds being created in the lab yet edible.

Somehow, some way, Chadwick's saucer had to be used to carry critical supplies back and forth across the chasm.

He was musing thus when Julie came into the com center. He told her of the disaster to the spaceplanes. She took the bad news well, he thought, although obviously it was a blow. They discussed how Chadwick's saucer would have to be used.

"Even with the saucer, it will be difficult to sustain forty-six people," she remarked distractedly.

Pierre nodded. "We will send as many as possible back to earth on the saucer."

"Yes. We must lower the number somehow."

The radio crackled to life. It was Mission Control reporting that the French space facilities were under attack. "Hangars are exploding, the fuel dump just detonated—" He was cut off in midsentence.

"The Americans," Pierre said heatedly.

"Or the British,"Julie said. "We'll give them a taste of their own medicine. They want war, and they shall have it! And I'm going to enjoy pulling the trigger!"

It was still dark in Washington when Charley Pine drifted the stolen saucer to a stop ten feet in the air outside a large hangar at Andrews Air Force Base. One of the huge doors began opening, revealing a brilliantly lit interior and dozens of people. The saucer slipped through the open door. Inside, the gear snapped down; then the ship settled to the shiny, reflective white concrete beside Air Force One, a huge Boeing 747 that dwarfed saucer and people. Behind the spaceship, the door was already closing.

Rip and Charley dropped through the open hatch. The first person they saw was the president of the United States. He walked over with a hand out.

He pronounced their names as he shook their hands, but didn't say his own. After all, Rip thought, any American who didn't know the name of the president was in danger of being involuntarily committed.

Charley said, "Hi," to the president, then asked, "Where's the ladies?"

Surprised, the president looked around for a sign. One of his aides pointed, and Charley headed that way, leaving Rip and the president standing in front of the saucer.

"She's had a rough night," Rip explained. "She knew the spaceplane crews, trained with them in France."

"Sure," said the president.

"Sorry about smashing up the window over at the Air and Space. I'll pay for the damage. We didn't have time to get permission," he finished lamely.

The president's eyebrows rose. "The director told one of my staff that he figured it would cost ten million to repair the side of that building."

"We've been doing okay licensing the propulsion technology. When I get back to Missouri, I'll write the museum a check."

"I've never been inside your saucer," the president said. "How about a tour?"

Once inside, the president climbed into the pilot's seat and looked at the blank computer presentations. Rip pulled out the power knob to the first detent, and the presentations came vividly to life. After Rip's cursory explanation, the president said, "Tell me about the spaceplanes."

So Rip told it, about going into orbit, calling Space Command, doing a huge loop and dropping down onto them, blowing up the refueling tank with the spaceplane attached…

When Rip ran dry, the president said, "One spaceplane blew up with the fuel tank, one burned up in the atmosphere, the third came down in the Pacific. The survivors were picked up by a freighter. One crewman dead, four injured. The fourth ship, which Ms. Pine flew, is parked on the Bonneville Salt Flats under armed guard."

"Guess that's the inventory."

"Then there is the saucer that we kept in Area Fifty-one. Top secret and all that. It was stolen and is on its way to the moon, presumably under the command of Artois' colleagues."

"With my uncle Egg flying it."

"Space Command said that you believe this saucer can make that trip."

"Yessir. If we put bladder tanks here in the cabin, plumb them into the water system, we can increase our fuel capacity by two hundred percent. Charley and I figure that will be enough to get us there and back."

The president wiggled the controls. "And this saucer has a weapon?"

"Yessir. An antiproton beam."

"What's an antiproton?"

"Antimatter. When an antiproton hits a regular proton, it destroys it, releasing a lot of energy. A whole lot. E = mc²."

"Your uncle will be at the lunar base. That will complicate things."

"We're going to need a couple of assault rifles and some grenades. They'll work the same there as they do here."

"Want to take a couple of marines with you?"

"It's sorta cramped in here now. When we add the water tanks, there won't be room."

"Okay." The president stirred the stick, kicked the rudders and took in the displays one more time. "Before you go, can I get a ride in this thing?"

To get to the restroom Charley walked through a large office and along a hallway. When she came out, she paused to examine the framed photos of World War I aviators hanging on the hallway wall. There was Georges Guyne-mer, with lean cheeks and haunted eyes, wearing a coat with a fur collar; Charles Nungesser standing in front of his plane in a leather coat, his hands in his pockets; Albert Ball in profile, only nineteen, in the cockpit of his Nieuport; the wild man, Frank Luke, with his arms folded across his chest, leaning against the lower wing of a Spad; Mick Mannock bending down to pat a dog… ahh, and Billy Bishop seated in a Nieuport, with his head turned, looking at the camera.

She wiped at her tears, trying to see clearly. Bishop's eyes bored into hers. Bishop, the consummate aerial warrior, was the only one of the group to die of old age. Seventy-two confirmed kills, Billy, and you lived with every one of them the rest of your days.

So was she feeling sorry for the men she killed, or for herself?

"Are you the saucer pilot?"

Charley Pine looked up. The questioner was a girl, perhaps ten years old, with yellow hair pulled back in pigtails. 'Yes," Charley said. "I'm the pilot."

"Why are you crying?"

Charley was sitting in a chair with her legs drawn up in the office off the main hangar floor, amid a dozen desks, each holding a computer and printer. The walls were lined with filing cabinets. She swabbed at her eyes. "People do, you know. Cry sometimes."

"Sometimes it helps," the girl said, very grown up.

Charley used the sleeves of her flight suit to dry her eyes, then tried to smile. It was a miserable effort, she thought.

The girl took a chair nearby. "I'm Amanda. I'm eight."

"Charley."

"That's a funny name for a girl."

"It's actually Charlotte. My dad started calling me Charley because I was a tomboy, and it stuck."

"I like being a girl," Amanda said.

"I do too."

"Boys are so icky."

"Sometimes," Charley agreed, and hugged her legs.

"What's it like to fly the saucer?"

"Sometimes it's pretty cool. Other times…"

"I mean, what's it really like?" Amanda leaned forward, her eyes shining. "When you go zooming up and fly off into space and see the world from way out there, with a billion stars shining and the moon so bright and the sun hanging there on fire."

"Way cool," Charley admitted, remembering.

"Tell me."

Charley searched for words, which had never been her long suit. She could fly it and live it and savor it, but she had never tried to tell anyone about it, except for one female reporter, who turned out to be more interested in Charley's sex life than her flying experiences.

Looking at Amanda, she started talking. She told about the G forces, the rush of acceleration with empty heaven ahead, the way the sky turned dark as the saucer climbed above the atmosphere, how the clouds looked from twenty, fifty, a hundred miles high looking down. She explained about the oceans, the million shades of blue, the mountains with snow, windstorms over the deserts, cities twinkling at night… told it to Amanda with the shining eyes.

Rip bent down and kissed Charley's cheek. "Hey there, lady. How you doing?"

"Visiting with Amanda."

"I see you met my granddaughter," a man said from behind Charley. She turned to see who it was. The president.

"She's going to be a pilot," Charley Pine replied, winking at Amanda.

"They're going to install the water tank, get us some new clothes and underwear and provide some MREs." MREs were Meals, Ready to Eat. "Can you think of anything else?"

"A couple cases of water to drink, and I want two flight suits with an American flag on the shoulder. I'm tired of wearing this French flight suit."

"Done," the president said.

"Uhh," Rip said, leaning close and whispering. "While they're getting bladder tanks ready to install, the president wondered if you could give him and Amanda a ride in the saucer. You know, sort of an out and in to see the sights and stuff. Will you?"

Charley Pine winked at Amanda. "Want to try it?"

"Sure," the youngster replied. "If you're going to fly it. I only ride with women pilots."

"She's a true believer," said the president, grinning broadly, and rumpled the girl's hair.

"Let's put some water in it and light the fires," Charley said. She led the way out into the hangar bay. The hangar door was already open. Through it she could see the dawn.

Suspecting that Andrews Air Force Base had its share of neighbors who complained about noise and wanting to go easy on her passengers, Charley Pine used the rocket engines sparingly after takeoff. Amanda sat on her lap, the president stood on her left, and Rip stood in his customary place on her right. Rip had briefed the president about hanging on; each man had a death grip on the underside of the instrument panel and the back of Charley's seat.

Once over the Chesapeake, Charley pulled the nose up to thirty degrees above the horizon and tweaked on more juice.

She was flying with just the headband, using both arms to hold Amanda.

The saucer soared through forty thousand feet, now fifty. The morning sky darkened; the rim of the earth became a vivid, unbroken line. She gently banked the saucer, let the nose fall to the horizon and reduced the rockets' thrust until they became a murmur behind her.

Here the spaceship was safely above the airliners, and above the high cirrus layer that was coming in from the west. In that direction the cloud formed a bright, gauzy sheet between earth and sky, almost luminescent in the morning sun. Charley Pine thought the sky very beautiful. Gorgeous in all its moods, she reminded herself.

Charley glanced at Rip. He was grinning widely. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

Rip, Rip, Rip, you are the one.

The president was also smiling. "Thank you," he told her. "And you, Rip."

She looked for the moon, then remembered that it was below the horizon at this time of day.

Enough. Pierre was waiting, with his plans for world conquest.

She silenced the rocket engines and let the nose drop toward the earth below.

As THE SHIP CAME DOWN THE POTOMAC, AMANDA WAS full of giggles and comments. She entertained the adults royally with her observations and her mood. "I'm going to be a saucer pilot when I grow up," she announced.

"You go, girl," Charley said, and the men seconded her.

Charley flew the saucer straight into the open hangar and set it on the concrete. As Rip opened the hatch, someone handed up a message for the president. He read it, then handed it to Charley.

"Time to go back to work," the president said sadly, and read the message aloud. He looked at Charley, then Rip, searching their faces. "If you can destroy the other saucer or render it inoperative, Pierre Artois and his friends will be marooned up there. I think they'll listen to reason then. This saucer will be their only ride home, and we've got it."

"We're going to the moon to get Egg," Rip said.

The president opened his mouth to reply, thought better of it and slapped them both on the shoulder. He turned to his granddaughter.

"Say good-bye, Amanda. I've got to go to work. These folks need to get some food and sleep while the mechanics work on the saucer."

He shook hands with both of them and pushed Amanda toward the hatch. When they were all standing in front of the saucer, Amanda told Charley where she lived and her telephone number and asked for another ride for herself and her girlfriends. Finally she bounded away, her grandfather urging her on, her pigtails flying.