Saucer: The Conquest

19

Egg's left arm was badly bruised and swollen, although the bone appeared intact. He used his right arm to hug Rip, then Charley, then Rip again. "I'm sorry you had to come," he said over and over, as Rip and Charley assured him getting kidnapped wasn't his fault.

"You did the right thing, Uncle Egg. You didn't get killed and you didn't kill yourself. We made it. In three days we'll be home."

"Still—" Egg found that his eyes were leaking and he couldn't stop the tears. Rip discovered he had the same problem, as did Charley Pine.

'You know," Charley said after a while as she swabbed at her eyes, "bad as it was, at least you guys got a free trip to the moon."

They had to agree. Rip didn't mention the ten million dollars he had agreed to pay for repairs to the National Air and Space Museum's glass wall, although the thought did cross his mind.

Finally, when they had their emotions under control, they told each other of their adventures on the moon. Rip's report of how he sabotaged the antigravity generator delighted his listeners. "They won't check it," he assured them. "They'll just turn it on and zot, it'll fly out of there and destroy itself. All the emperor's engineers won't be able to put that puppy back together again."

His report of how someone had shot all the people in the mess hall sobered them.

"I guess Julie was taking the people who were there with her, and to heck with the others," Charley said.

"Including Pierre," Rip mused. "I left him sitting in front of television cameras in the com center. I think he'd lost it. He didn't even look at me when I prodded him with the rifle barrel."

"Dreams die hard," Egg said thoughtfully. "Everyone needs dreams, or ambitions, if you will, but sometimes they get too big, grow out of control."

They didn't talk any more of the people left on the moon. They were doomed, and there was nothing anyone could do. Or wanted to do.

Egg said, "I'll bet the folks back on earth would like to know what happened up here. They can stop worrying about Emperor Pierre."

"Let the party begin," Rip muttered.

Ten minutes later Charley was talking to the president on the radio. She told him they were coming home in the saucer, just the three of them, and the antigravity generator on the moon was no longer operational.

"Can they fix it?" the president wanted to know.

"I doubt it," Charley said.

"That's very good news, extremely good news. When you get back, land at Andrews Air Force Base. The White House is in rubble or I'd have you land on the south lawn. I want to have a press conference with you folks so everyone all around the world can stop worrying."

Rip made a face. Charley frowned at him, then said, "Yes, sir," to the president. When she released the mike button, she said to Rip, "We have to do it and you know it. A lot of people won't believe a government announcement. Would you?"

"Nope," Rip admitted.

"See?"

"How many people are still alive on the moon?" the president asked.

Charley counted on her fingers. "Six or seven." She wasn't sure about the man she had blasted with the rocket exhaust.

"Was Artois one of them?"

"Pierre? When Rip last saw him, he was alive."

"When we have a private moment, I'd like to hear all about it."

"Roger that."

"By the way," the president added, "you can tell Rip that he won't have to pay for the damage at the museum. I think we can probably get a special appropriation from Congress to cover it. They'll undoubtedly want to pass a resolution thanking you for all your efforts."

The president said his good-byes, and the conversation was over. Charley turned off the radio.

"How badly did you damage the museum?" Egg asked his nephew.

"Ten million dollars' worth."

"They should be at least that grateful," Egg muttered.

Later, when Egg was asleep, Rip murmured to Charley, "That other saucer is around someplace."

"I've been thinking about that," she admitted.

When the radio conversation was over, the presi-dent beamed at his advisers and cabinet officers, all of whom had listened to the conversation with Charley over loudspeakers. He aimed his smile at the secretary of state. "We didn't have to declare war on France after all. I hope you're pleased."

"A great many French people are very proud of Pierre Artois."

The president waved a dismissive hand. "That's the way it goes. Sometimes you eat the bear and sometimes the bear eats you. They'll just have to soldier on."

"As a gesture of goodwill, I think we should offer to return the spaceplane to France. They may wish to use it again in their space program."

"We'll address that request when they make it, if they do," the president said. He changed the subject. It took the group twenty minutes to reach a consensus on the best way to break the good news to the public, in America and worldwide. In deference to the feelings of the French, the assembled savants thought that the president should avoid the appearance of gloating.

"I don't gloat," he stated positively.

Still, he might smile or be erroneously perceived as gloating, which wouldn't do, they assured him. The group finally agreed that the White House press spokesperson should pass out a flyer to the press and take questions. On that note the meeting broke up.

When the president and P.J. O'Reilly were alone, the president's smile faded. "What are the chances the French would launch a rescue mission to the moon if they got their hot hands on that spaceplane?" he asked O'Reilly.

"Pretty good. A lot of people in Europe and America will demand it, for very different reasons. Senator Blohardt is already talking about trying Pierre and his henchmen for a variety of felonies, including murder and extortion. If the French do indeed bring him back, things could get nasty."

"We'll all be better off if Pierre stays up there. Have the air force destroy the spaceplane. Burn it up in an accident. We leave that thing sitting around, some fool may be tempted to steal it."

"Yes, sir," said P.J. O'Reilly.

"People can tell their kids that the man in the moon is

French."

O'Reilly liked it when the president did sneaky things that nobody could pin on him. He planned on telling all the secrets someday in a book about his White House years, a book that would make him rich. The possibility that the president wouldn't care what he said in his book never once entered his head. He strolled from the room with his lips pursed, whistling silently.

It was a foggy, misty night in Missouri when Charley Pine set the saucer in the grass in front of Egg's hangar. For the last two hours she had been running on the antigravity rings, rushing along above the treetops. The three of them had been fighting earth's strong gravity and were very tired. As the saucer touched solid ground, Egg swayed on his feet.

The fog was so dense that it obscured the trees behind Egg's house. "A hot shower would really be nice," Charley said wistfully as she stared at the building. "With clean sheets and a soft pillow afterward."

"A home-cooked meal wouldn't be bad either," Rip said, "but I think we should stick with the plan."

"Okay," Charley said, and pushed the power button in to the first detent. Rip opened the hatch as Egg kissed Charley good-bye. Then all three of them stood around the open hatchway inhaling the wet, foggy earth smell.

"I'd forgotten how good that smells," Egg said, and sucked in another lungful. He shook Rip's hand, then hugged him. "You two be careful."

"Sure, Unc. Sure."

They watched him lower himself carefully through the hatch and waddle away. Rip closed the hatch. "The pond," he told Charley as she remounted the pilot's seat.

They flew away as Egg stood waving with his good arm. They didn't fly far, a mere three hundred yards to a clear pond that Egg had created years ago by damming a creek. Charley submerged the saucer in the pond, and they filled up the main tank. They didn't bother filling the empty bladders in the main cabin.

Charley set the saucer on the edge of the pond so that Rip could get out and check that the cap on the tank had closed automatically. It had.

As he scrambled back aboard he told Charley, "Ooh, it smells so good, feels so good. The moon is cool, but there's no place like home."

"And this isn't even Kansas," Charley said as she lifted the saucer into the air.

Using a bit of rocket power, they headed east at ten thousand feet, well below the altitude at which the airliners flew. When they were cruising with the computer flying the ship, Charley announced, "I'm whacked. I've got to sleep."

Rip flew while she curled up with a blanket on the seats at the back of the compartment.

At this altitude the clouds were well below. The moon, in its last quarter, was resting right on the cloudtops. Rip turned the saucer so he could see it, then resumed course. As he watched, the moonlight on the clouds faded and the night grew very dark. Rip didn't notice; he was thinking about the other saucer.

Lalouette was a fighter pilot before he was recruited to fly spaceplanes. Sure, he had made a few foolish mistakes battling Charley on the moon, but if he was alive and wanted another go, the rematch could be vicious.

Surely he wouldn't be so foolish. If he had any sense,

Lalouette was probably lying on a beach in the South Sea islands, with the saucer hidden in the surf. As he flew eastward Rip fervently prayed that Jean-Paul did have some sense and had decided to become a survivor. Still, he scanned the sky ceaselessly, looking.

After the saucer disappeared silently into the fog, Egg Cantrell slowly climbed the hill to his house. He unlocked the door and began snapping on lights. In a night this dark there should be light.

He climbed the stairs to his room and took a long, hot shower. The days in low gravity and weightlessness had taken their toll. He was so tired. He was toweling off when he heard a faint, low rumble. Ah, the engines of the saucer! A smile crossed his face.

He put on his pajamas and fell into bed. Despite his fatigue, his eyes stayed open. He had this vague feeling that something was out there. With the lights in the house off, he went from window to window, looking out into the foggy night. And of course saw nothing. Finally he went back to bed, and slept.

Two and a half hours after they left Missouri, Rip glided down toward Chesapeake Bay under a clear night sky. He could see the vast sheet of water glistening in the starlight.

He brought the saucer to a hover, lowered the landing gear and let the ship slip gently into the water. The water lapped at the canopy as he steadied the saucer. He opened the cap on the water tank and let the water run in. He could hear it gurgling. When the noise stopped, he closed the cap and let the weight of the saucer carry it down. Finally, at least a hundred feet down, the ship contacted the floor of the bay. It came to rest at a slight angle.

They were safe here, he thought. There was no way Lalou-ette could find this ship under a hundred feet of water.

Rip pushed the power knob in to the first detent, climbed from the pilot's seat, used the meager facilities, then curled up beside Charley with a blanket. In seconds he was sound asleep.

When Egg awoke the sun was coming over the tree-tops and the birds were singing. A dove on the gutter just above the window cooed repeatedly. Looking out, he could see that the grass was covered with droplets of dew, which reflected the light of the rising sun. The foliage was changing; splotches of red and yellow and brown decorated the trees.

Egg rubbed his hands together, then donned clean clothes from his closet. Soon he was in the kitchen making breakfast. He turned on a network morning show and watched the president's press secretary answering reporters' questions — most of which, he said, he didn't yet know the answer to.

Yet the news was good — very, very good — and the talking heads were euphoric. The government said Pierre was no longer a threat, and even the French admitted that they were unable to contact the lunar base. Later today the heroes of the hour, Charlotte Pine and Rip Cantrell, would be landing the saucer at Andrews. The reception would be carried live on this network. Happy days were here again.

Egg snapped off the television and hummed as he served himself bacon and eggs, toast and coffee. He ate at the little table where he always ate, with the morning sun streaming through the window.

Ooh, boy, life is good!

After he had put the dishes in the dishwasher and started the machine, he donned a sweater that was hanging on a peg near the front door and went out onto the porch. A squirrel in a nearby tree scolded him. A cool little breeze rustled the autumn leaves.

Egg kept a sealed container of bird food in one corner of the porch; now he opened it and dribbled a scoopful of sunflower seeds along the porch rail. In less than a minute the large, fat gray squirrel leaped from the tree to the rail and settled in to dine, ignoring the man.

With his hands in his pockets, Egg strolled around his lawn, looking at this, examining that. He soon found himself at the entrance to his hangar. He opened the door, went inside and flipped on the light.

An old man was sitting on the couch by the refrigerator. His face was in shadow, but Egg could see his wispy white hair and the gnarled bony hands, one of which held a nasty little automatic.

"It's about time, Cantrell. I was getting tired of waiting."

Newton Chadwick!

"How'd you get here?"

"I've got the gun, Cantrell, so I'll ask the questions and you'll supply the answers." He wheezed a bit after he spoke, seeming to fight for air. "Come over here and sit so I can see you better."

Egg hesitated.

"Do as I say or I'll drop you where you stand. Don't have much time left, and I owe you a big one."

Egg walked over and took a chair eight feet from Chadwick, on his left side. Chadwick rested the hand that held the automatic on his thigh.

"That's better," the old man said. And he was old. From this distance Chadwick looked every day of eighty-five, perhaps ninety.

'Yeah, Cantrell, take a good look. My hair turned white and most of it fell out, my teeth got loose and I lost half of them. I dropped twenty pounds just like that and got splotches all over my hands. Damn prostate swelled up so I can't piss, hands shake, can't see very well — I'm in a hell of a shape, and I got you to thank. You're the bastard that dumped my drug and replaced it with water, aren't you?"

"I did that, yes."

"And now it's too late," Chadwick said fiercely. "Even if I got more of the serum, it won't reverse the aging process. It merely retards it, puts it on hold. Who the hell wants to live for a hundred years in the shape I'm in? I ought to just kill you here and now."

"Why don't you?"

"I'm thinking about it. I want to watch you sweat before you die. Like I'm doing. Haven't got long left. My heart is also acting up." He paused for a moment, shook his head as if to clear it and coughed silently. "Lalouette dropped me here. The antimatter weapon on Pine's saucer blew his left arm off at the elbow. He was in no shape to fight anymore and headed for home. Lucky for us I managed to get a tourniquet on that stump or he'd have bled to death."

"So you didn't die and you're back on earth. Most of those people on the moon are dead, and the rest are doomed. Be glad you're here."

"But I'm dying, you fool! Dying of old age that's catching up to me all at once. Thanks to you. Hell of a thing, what you did to me."

"Oh, cut the self-pity," Egg roared. "I haven't got the stomach for it. You've lived a long, healthy life and worked hard at something you liked. That's more than most people get. Now here you sit like a toad in a well crying, 'Woe is me.' Pfft! It's time to stop the pity party. Get off your butt and go outside. It's a marvelous fall day. The birds are singing, the critters are fat, the sun is shining, and the world is turning."

Chadwick lifted the pistol and pointed it at Egg's middle, which was a large target. His hand shook. "Don't you understand?" His voice was high pitched, querulous. "I'm old and worn out and dying."

Egg lowered his voice and leaned forward. "You are the one who doesn't understand. If you only have a day or an hour or fifteen minutes left to live, you should spend it out there in the sun, savoring this day. The value of life isn't measured by the amount of time you get, but by how well you enjoy what you do have."

Chadwick couldn't hold the pistol up. He lowered it into his lap. "I was always too busy looking forward, scheming, wanting more of everything. Money, recognition, fame, respect—"

He paused, breathing in and out, put the hand holding the pistol up to his heart and pressed on his chest with his wrist. After a bit he lowered his hand back into his lap. He seemed to forget about the pistol. At least he didn't aim it.

"Come on," Egg said, and stood up. He held out his hand. "Let's get out in it."

Chadwick hesitated, then held out his left hand. As Egg pulled he pushed off with his right, which still held the pistol, and levered himself erect. He stood swaying, holding on to Egg. Finally he looked down at the pistol, seeming surprised that he still had it. He put it in his trouser pocket.

"Let's go," Egg said, and helped the old man walk. He took tiny, shuffling steps. Egg held the door open, and Chadwick shielded his eyes from the sun. It took almost a minute for his eyes to adjust.

Egg took him along the path beside the runway so Chadwick wouldn't have to climb the hill. The flowers were still out, bees were busy, and Egg pointed out a hummingbird. Chadwick looked as if he were seeing these wonders for the very first time. The gentle breeze played with his hair. He put up his hand, felt his hair moving around and smoothed it some.

"Was there ever a woman?" Egg asked.

'Yes," Chadwick said. After a bit he added, "She had dark hair, nearly black. Brown eyes."

A little farther along, Chadwick staggered. "Pretty tired," he gasped. "Let me… sit under that tree."

The old maple was at least twenty inches in diameter and had lost a major limb in the last big summer thunderstorm. The shattered limb lay beside the tree in the grass, still sporting its withered leaves. Gotta cut that up for firewood, Egg thought.

Chadwick eased himself to the ground and leaned back against the tree.

"Should have married her," he muttered. "Wish I had."

He closed his eyes. His breathing became regular, and he seemed to go to sleep.

Egg sat nearby and watched the treetops dance. The breeze must be stronger up there. Grasshoppers were singing, and before long a ruffed grouse came hesitantly from the brush to search for them. The bird ignored the men.

The similarity between his life and Chadwick's hit Egg hard. He too had never married, had submerged himself in work. Today he was acutely conscious of all the things he had paid too little attention to, such as family, friends, spring rains, summer thunderstorms — and women.

Maybe… There was an archaeologist at the university who had wanted to see the saucer computer. They had spent a day together at the farm. After she completed her article, she had called and asked him to dinner. He had refused. Now he remembered her smile, the way she held her head when she looked at him. Maybe he should call her up and accept that invitation.

The breeze was stronger now on his face; clouds were forming overhead. As a boy he had liked to lie in the grass looking at clouds. He hadn't done it since junior high. When I'm old, I'll wish I'd done it all my life, he thought.

After a while Egg glanced at Chadwick. He seemed to have sagged a little. His chin was on his chest, which had stopped moving. Egg checked Chadwick's pulse. There wasn't one. The breeze was still caressing his white hair.

Egg stood, sighed as he took a last look at the old man, then slowly made his way along the runway toward the hangar and the telephone.