Published: 06 Feb 2017

Part XVI

THREE WORLDS
Formerly Published as “0300 Books I, II, and III”

Chapter 49: Kidnap Team I

George reminded me that our plans to kidnap someone from California had been interrupted, and asked me what we were going to do about that. I think he was bored, but he was also right. And I knew that I could not have functioned without him and the other Metas—especially Tobor—keeping things organized.

George had recruited Artie, who brought in two more of his boys to help plan the mission. They were able to select a teacher who seemed to enjoy solitary jogging in the early mornings. George ran his plan through the Intel and Ops Teams, and sent me a memo. By the time I had received the memo, the team was halfway to the rift.

That was okay. I remembered when George and Danny had screwed up in a tunnel at Disneyworld, and we’d had a serious discussion. By now, George and the others knew that it is often easier to get forgiven than to get permission, and that they’d get forgiven as long as they didn’t break a prime directive. And, there were only two prime directives: don’t get caught, and don’t give away any hint of our technology.

George was smart enough not to take any of Artie’s boys on the mission. If one were seen and recognized, our cover would be jeopardized. Kidnap Team I was dressed in tatterdemalion—not rags, but a hodge-podge of clothing that mirrored what the boys at Santa Ana routinely wore when not in uniform.

The mission was successful. They landed the shuttle in darkness behind a hill, and intercepted the teacher. They were prepared to use force, and to drug him into unconsciousness, if necessary; however, once he caught sight of the shuttle, the man was eager to cooperate. I met the team on the Flight Deck, and got a hug from George. He was still flushed with excitement and pride.

“We did it, Daddy!” he whispered. “And he’s a cool dude, and smart, too.

“Professor Rheinman? Would you come meet my daddy?”

I saw the professor’s puzzlement at George’s calling me daddy. That explanation would have to wait, however. I invited the professor as well as George’s team to join me in the Flag Conference Room, where Artie was already waiting. The professor had arrived at Camp Santa Ana after the Battle for Las Vegas, and wouldn’t have known Artie, although we expected him to recognize the uniform. We were surprised when the professor said, “You’re Artie!” and then asked, “Where are the others? How many…?”

“Six hundred eighty six survived,” Artie said. “But I don’t know you.”

“I’ve seen you on the Don’s televisor,” the professor began, but I interrupted him with a critical question.

“Professor? Artie will fill you in shortly; however at the moment it’s important to know what the Don will think of your disappearance. Can you help us understand what his reaction might be?”

“He—rather, at first, the Officer of the Day—will assume that I was injured, perhaps that I fell, and will send someone to look for me. When I am not found, the Don will be notified. He will likely assume that I was attacked by a bobcat, and will send a few more people. When I am not found, he will settle on an attack by a wild animal which dragged my carcass away, despite the lack of physical evidence.”

“Will he notify his headquarters?”

“Not likely. He shares no more than he has to with the CIA.”

In addition to explaining that the CIA was the California Intelligence Agency, a sort of central council that ran the army, Professor Rheinman helped us understand the California government.

“California is technically a republic. Do you know what that is?” he asked.

“Yes, a representative government in which the representatives are chosen by an electorate and given authority to rule. Is it based on the old constitution of the USA?”

“You are familiar with that?” Professor Rheinman asked.

We stopped the debriefing at that point, not only because it was getting late, but also because I felt the professor could tell us more if he knew more about us.

The next morning Artie and Cam gave the professor an in-depth understanding of not only what we knew about his world, but also about ours. I suggested that they hold off explaining Corey and his world until later. I kept one screen linked to the room where Artie, Cam, and the professor were talking, and only watched when something caught my attention.

“We believe that the atmosphere is about 60 miles deep,” Professor Rheinman said. “We confirmed by simple trigonometry that you were able to release the bodies of the children from that height using measurements made from several points during the funeral.”

“You were prepared to do that?”

“Of course. We knew that Artie would not lie about something so important.”

The professor looked at our imagery of the campus. “The two new buildings are classrooms. All the boys now learn to read, write, and do simple arithmetic. They also receive classes in military history, strategy, and tactics. The orphanage has been converted into a military post at which another army of children is being trained.”

Cam put up another image.

“Yes,” the professor said, “the link which brings the televisor signal down the mountain is powered by a solar cell.”

“What other technology does California have that the Reverends don’t?”

“I don’t know,” Professor Rheinman said. I’ll try to think of any, but I was, after all, a teacher of mathematics and history.”

“Why children?” Cam asked.

“Because they demanded to be allowed to fight. Because we judge a person not on calendar age but on mental maturity.”

I was happy to hear that, since it would likely make it easier for the professor to accept the children in my command, and the relationships that existed between boys and adults.

Foiling Fatima
USF Charleston

The kidnapping—or rescue depending on one’s perspective—of John and Andrew and the subsequent kidnapping of Professor Rheinman were interludes in the middle of a greater problem: how to deal with the Reverends’ attempt to re-create the Miracle of the Sun at Fatima. Plans for other kidnappings were put on hold until we could resolve that. In hindsight, that was a bad decision, one that put a child at great risk.

“We cannot let this so-called miracle take place,” I said. “We know it’s not really a miracle, but we cannot allow the Reverends’ people to believe it is.” Those were the instructions I gave to the team. And then, I let them deal with it, just as I had when my element at Edmonton had won the ice hockey championship, even beating the Flin Flon Junior Team, where I had learned that helping and encouraging my teammates was more effective than being the star, myself. The battles of Empire are won on the playing fields of Eton. I remember wondering what that meant; now, it became clear.

I sat back and listened to the discussion.

“Do we need only to block the sun, or must we do more?”

“A single ship can create a circular force field that is opaque.”

“What if CERN-Higgs opened a rift so that instead of the sun, all they saw was empty space and maybe, some stars?”

“A rift would have to be outside the atmosphere, or it could create strong windstorms, and maybe suck away the air of Earth.”

“A windstorm—a sandstorm—might not be a bad idea, if we could control it.”

“How do they normally see an eclipse? This can’t be the first time that’s happened.”

Several pairs of eyes turned to Artie, but he shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

A message was sent asking John to join the discussion. He looked much better than when I’d first seen him. Hormone therapy and a boost to his thyroid, as well as help from a physical therapist had begun a process that would bring him to normalcy—at least, to what we considered normalcy.

“An eclipse?” he asked. “I don’t know that word.”

Cam linked his iPad to the big screen, and drew the sun, the orbit of the Earth and that of the moon, and was about to show the moon crossing in front of the Earth and casting its shadow when John gasped. So did Artie and the two of his boys who were with him.

I realized immediately what was wrong: they’d never been told of the heliocentric solar system.

Cam displayed a couple of videos of eclipses recorded on our Earth. John grasped the situation quickly, and I made a note to ask Corey to add a few things to the U-Cal boys’ curriculum.

“Very interesting,” John said. “What you’re describing could happen even in the Reverend’s model of the universe, in which the moon occupies a crystal sphere between the Earth and the sun, but I have never seen this.”

Then he said something that sounded like poetry. “…’the sun became black as sackcloth of hair and the moon became as blood’…

“There have been,” he said, “reports of the Lord God sending darkness over some of His people as a sign of His displeasure. The message on the televisor following these was that it was only by the intercession of the Scudder that the darkness was lifted.”

“Sounds as if no matter what we do, we’re going to give them a chance to count coup,” Danny said. “If the miracle of the sun occurs, the Scudder will claim credit; if we block it, and later remove the block, the Scudder will claim credit.”

“Unless we show them a boxy aeroplane without wings, and let them know—”

“Is this the time to do that?”

“Showing a shuttle to the general population might not be problematic; however, until we know more about the Inquisitors, we must not reveal our technology to anyone.” I reminded them of one of the prime directives, and gently vetoed that idea.

It took the team about an hour to come up with a way to block the miracle, but one that left a gaping hole—and by that, I didn’t mean a rift. “We need to know what’s going on at ground zero,” I said. “We need someone on the ground at the Grand Canyon.”

The question of humint had come up, again. And I was afraid that this time, there would be no way to avoid it.

“Maybe we don’t need someone on the ground,” Bobby said. “We could let them see an aeroplane with wings. They do have aeroplanes, you know.”

“Do you think we can make a Spad and train a pilot in just a couple of days?”

“No, but there’s the Enterprise VII,” Bobby said. “We went there on a school field trip. All of her aircraft are operational, including the replicas from the Franco-German War and the Lafayette Escadrille, and they all have AG drive.”

After the meeting broke up, I saw Cam corner John.

“What you said after the videos of eclipses,” Cam said to John. “You were quoting something.”

“A book written by the man for whom I was named: John of Patmos.”

“I would like to know more,” Cam said.

John nodded.

Cam thinks and senses more deeply than any of us, I thought. When he is older, he will become the leader of the Metas and the Geeks. I wasn’t quite sure what I thought about that, but knew it was something I’d have to address.

When I called Admiral Davis to request air support from Enterprise VII he agreed that this exceeded my authority. “Especially since all the pilots are reservists or retirees. On the other hand, they are all reservists or retirees, so there should be no difficulty getting volunteers,” he said. “Good idea—shows someone is thinking.”

“I’ll pass that on, sir,” I said. “It came out of a team meeting.” Privately, I resolved to give Bobby an extra big hug.

Less than a day later, we got word that Enterprise VIII was en route to our position. “Be prepared to transfer large cargo and personnel,” read the brief message from Geneva Main.

Chapter 50: USF Enterprise at USF Charleston

I was twenty years old, and commanded a task force of some 25,000 men and, as Admiral Davis had said, enough firepower to destroy Earth. Still, I felt a quiver in my tummy when the Enterprise pulled alongside the Charleston. Enterprise had been my first ship-borne assignment when I was a six-year-old Cadet j.g. who had been in Fleet for only a few months. It was an experience that I would never forget. I still wore the battle ribbon from Jamnagar. I knew that the current captain was not the man who had commanded the ship when I was a six-year-old Cadet j.g., but I wondered if there were anyone on board I knew. Of course, they’d not remember me. On the other hand…

“Tobor? Is Phillip Moore still—”

Tobor anticipated my question. “Yes, Paul. He is a Lieutenant, and a staff officer.”

“Thank you.”

There was a question in my mind that Tobor could not help me answer: Should I ask him to visit? Can I make him remember me? Should I?

The crew of the two battleships were prepared to handle the transfer of the antique aircraft from ship to ship; a shuttle had been launched to bring the pilots to Charleston; there was nothing for me to do but…

“Comm? My compliments to the Captain of USF Enterprise and would he join me for coffee and, if it fits the duty schedule, would he bring his exec and the Enterprise Senior Chief, as well as Lt. Phillip Moore? I’ll invite Captain Moultrie.”

“Comm, aye.”

Captain Moultrie greeted Captain Howard on the flight deck, and escorted him and his staff to the Flag Bridge where I was waiting with several members of the Intel Team.

Captain Moultrie began the introductions. “Commodore Stewart, I’m happy to introduce an old friend and classmate from Fleet School Sydney, Captain Jack Howard.”

“Captain Howard, thank you for responding so quickly to what must have seemed an unusual request.” I held out my hand.

“You’re welcome, Commodore. Admiral Davis wouldn’t explain…” He heard a giggle from one of the kids, and raised an eyebrow.

“These are members of the Flag Intel Team who will brief you and your staff on the mission for the aircraft and pilots you’ve brought us.”

“Spads in space? I think, Commodore, that after today, I’ll have to find a new word to replace unusual in my vocabulary.” Captain Howard chuckled, and then turned to the men on his left whom he introduced as his XO and Ship’s Senior Chief. “And, Lieutenant Moore,” he concluded.

I shook hands with the XO and Senior Chief. I saw that Phillip didn’t recognize me, so I pushed him gently and saw his eyes widen. I pushed an image of our last night together, and managed to bring a little blush to his cheeks. He remembers, I thought. The memories were there, just suppressed.

“Phillip, it’s good to see you again. Perhaps we can take some time after the briefing, to catch up.”

“I’d like that, sir.”

It was the Chief of the Ship who spotted the battle ribbon and knew its significance. “You served on Enterprisebefore? And with Lt. Moore?”

“Yes, Senior Chief. I was part of the contingent from Fleet School Edmonton that got dragged into the battle of Jamnagar,” I said. “Lt. Moore and I were roommates, and stood watch together on the weapons consoles.”

The introductions and small talk delayed the start of the briefing, but finally we got everyone into the Flag Conference Room where coffee was waiting.

Deacon went to the lectern. He’d long ago gotten over his funk, and his voice was level and calm.

“Gentlemen, I am Cadet j.g. Deacon Pierce. The information in this briefing is classified Secret because it relies on intelligence sources and methods as well as Fleet operational capabilities.

“You have received background information on the Reverend’s Universe.

“The Reverends’ territories present a unique challenge to modern intelligence gathering. They do not use radio, only microwave and local television broadcasts that last only about two hours a day—a few hours longer on their Sabbath or seventh day. These broadcasts are primarily propaganda, and of little intelligence value. Sigint has proven to be of little use. Their society appears to be primitive and agrarian. Imint tells us little. We are not yet prepared to put humint resources on the ground.

“You know that Task Force Rift is charged with intelligence gathering as well as guarding the rift against potential attack from the other side. Please add the understanding that Commodore Stewart has a great deal of latitude in how we interact with this universe and the Reverends. A significant aspect of that interaction will be testing their reaction to things they do not understand.

“We have begun to stir the pot a bit.

“You have seen the Funeral. What you do not know is that we seized the Reverends’ television signals, and broadcast a speech by Colonel Artie Stewart that was followed by a broadcast of the re-entry of the bodies of our brothers into the atmosphere above the Las Vegas of that universe.

“In response to the Funeral, the Reverends plan to create a miracle. They intend to replicate the Miracle of Fatima.”

Deacon punched the clicker and an artist’s rendition appeared on the screen. He explained the miracle as it had allegedly transpired.

“The Reverends plan to assemble thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of pilgrims on the south rim of the Grand Canyon. They do not have the technology to do much more than order people to look at the sun. As did those who orchestrated the original so-called miracle, they will depend on the power of suggestion as well as the natural twitching of people’s eyes if they stare at a light long enough. That people may be blinded by staring at the sun is unlikely to be any more a concern of the Reverends than it was to the Catholic hierarchy nearly 100 years ago.

“We have resolved to foil this miracle.

“We do need to be able to collect intelligence before, during, and after the events. We do not want to give the Reverends opportunity to see our shuttlecraft.

“The people of the Reverend’s universe are familiar with aircraft of the type used in our universe in the early 20^thcentury. The aircraft from Enterprise VII are already being repainted to match markings used on the planes of the Reverends’ Army. They will be equipped with imint sensors, as well as standard shields. They will operate on their AG drives for safety, and will run engines for the sound.

“They will be taken in a transport shuttle to the bottom of the canyon the night before the miracle is expected to occur. They will fly recon beginning at dawn. Mission planning will likely fall apart after the first hour or two, and will be done ad hoc in coordination with intel team members on the transport shuttle, which will operate as a forward command post.

“We understand that all the aircraft are equipped with operational slug-firing machine guns. Even though they will be shielded, they will be expected to defend themselves—or at least appear to do so— should they be attacked. Our opsec people believe this will help prevent the Reverends from learning about our shields and penetrating the charade.

“The aircraft will be equipped with destruction charges in the unlikely event they are forced down. Pilots will wear shielded skin suits. We will break cover if necessary to rescue a pilot, although we have plans to divert attention and mask a rescue mission.

“The two-seater aircraft will have an armed observer from our team.” He did not say that the observers would be armed with phasers; we were still keeping that technology classified.

“Are there any question?”

“Do you mind explaining how you’ll foil the miracle?” Captain Howard asked.

“We have six asteroid ore freighters filled with sand from the area around our Grand Canyon, just in case anyone’s smart enough to analyze it. Dr. Adams, Chief of CERN-Higgs, will open two rifts that will pull air from higher pressure at the bottom of the canyon to lower pressure, higher in the atmosphere. The freighters will release the sand into the rift at the bottom of the canyon. It will be tricky to coordinate the sand with the wind, but the freighter pilots and loadmasters assure us they can do it.

“The artificial sandstorm that will be created will mask the sun and temporarily blind the pilgrims. We will endeavor to keep the sand above the pilgrims, in order not to create permanent blindness.”

“What if they run out of sand?”

“The freighters will refill from upriver as required; there will be a continuous stream of sand for as long as the day lasts.”

After Deacon fielded several more questions, I thanked him.

After the boy had taken his seat, Captain Howard turned to me. “Outstanding briefing,” he said. “And quite a plan.”

“The plan was developed by the team members you see, as well as others just like them,” I said.

“That was a great deal more than I would expect from a cadet j.g.,” Captain Howard said. Deacon took Howard’s remark in the spirit in which it was offered. To the Metas in the room, the boy literally glowed.

“Commodore, it’s good to see you again,” Phillip said. He stood stiffly, not quite at attention, but definitely not at ease.

“Phillip, please call me Paul. Do you remember what you said that night? You said that after the next day we might never see each other again, but that you wanted to remember me as a friend. I wanted that, too, but nature and my own fear made it impossible. You were the first person to ever offer me friendship, and I’ve never forgotten it.”

I told him a little more about the veil, and how long it had taken me to learn to control it.

“Is it too late for us to try to become friends? I know it will take some time…”

“I do remember,” Phillip said. “I also said we were too little to be boyfriends. I have a boyfriend, Paul.”

“So do I, Phillip. In fact, I have two, and someday, when there is time, I’d like you to meet—”

Jonathan’s bosun’s whistle from the speaker on my desk interrupted me. “Yes, Jonathan?”

“Sir, message from Geneva Main. Begin Message ‘Commodore Stewart: Enterprise now assigned to Task Force Rift.’ There’s a private message from Admiral Davis attached, sir.”

What does he know that he’s not telling me? I wondered.

That thought was interrupted by Phillip’s hug. “That’s terrific, Paul,” he said. “I think now we’ll have a chance to become friends.”

I returned the hug. Phillip was the first boy I’d ever wanted to be my friend. Now, after fourteen years, maybe it would happen.

“We’ll have to explain to your captain, I think,” I said.

“Won’t be hard,” Phillip said. “I’m on his Ops Plans Team—it won’t be difficult to convince him I should be liaison with your Flag Team.” He grinned, the same silly grin I remembered.

After Phillip had left, I opened the private message from Admiral Davis. “You may need these aeroplanes again; might as well keep them, and they really do belong on an Enterprise. To your team: Bravo Zulu.”

“A family dinner,” George said.

“Huh?” Danny asked.

“We’re family; Phillip was your friend when you were little. I’ll bet he thinks of his boyfriend as family, too. Anyway, a family dinner.”

I’d asked George and Danny how to introduce them to Phillip and his boyfriend. George was one of the few Metas who had known a family and had a family relationship for the same reason he got caught stealing a shuttle: he was slower to develop his veil. He had been able to answer my question without thought. It was a good answer, and I asked the Flag Mess to arrange it, and sent the invitation.

The dinner was in a small dining room I didn’t even know we had. The table was set with a linen tablecloth, but all the food was in bowls and on platters that we had to pass. Once they put the food on the table, the mess stewards left us alone. Family style, George sent.

Phillip and Kenny Carter were familiar with family style, and joked about growing up in large families and having to have long arms, or starve. George and Danny and I caught the love and warmth in those memories, and enjoyed sharing them.

After supper, we went to my quarters for coffee and lemonade. George and Danny curled up on either side of me; Kenny took that as permission, and cuddled up to Phillip.

I knew Phillip was two years older than I was. George and Danny were six years younger than I was. But as I’d explained to Corey, the age of consent was based on mental maturity, not a calendar. It didn’t bother us that Kenny was probably no older than George and Danny. All we saw was the love that Phillip and Kenny shared.

“I’ve never told anyone this before,” Phillip said. “I didn’t know why until the other day when you explained this mental thing you do.

“If you hadn’t taken out that Mirage fighter, there would be no Enterprise VIII—and no Phillip Moore.

“The ship was more vulnerable than we knew: the portside flight decks were all open, as were the weapons bays. If the Mirage’s weapon had gone off, the ship would have been destroyed.

“Daddy got a commendation. I always knew that he was puzzled about that. That medal should have gone to you.”

“It did,” I said. “But not the way you think. It came back to me three days ago when you remembered who I was, and said that we might try, once again to be friends. It came back to me tonight when I felt your happiness and love for Kenny.”

Arcana Headquarters

“They will proceed with this show?”

The Colonel-General of the Inquisition had convened his staff, save for a young lieutenant who was, at this moment, in Chicago having his eyes and mind opened by a Jewish scientist named Oppenheimer.

“There is every indication they will,” one of the majors said. “It’s been pushed on the Scudder’s televisor messages for the past ten days. The Army has been called out to provide logistics, and has already moved troops, armored motorcars, tank trucks of water, and boxcars of food, to the south rim of the canyon. Calls for pilgrims have been issued. Our guess is that they will take the entire population of several towns rather than have to decide who to take from among a town’s population.”

“You have someone on the ground?” the Colonel-General asked.

“Several, sir,” the major said. “Most are integrated into the Army support units. One will be located with binoculars about a mile from the site.”

“What if the miracle doesn’t work?” another major asked.

“The Scudder will have a few towns to repopulate,” the Colonel-General said. “Is it safe to assume that the Army also has gas units?”

The major charged with oversight of the miracle nodded.

“And our observers have gas masks?”

“The ones that matter.”

“And the people with the boxy aeroplanes? How will they see this? And what will be their response?” The only remaining lieutenant on the staff asked.

“What? What makes you think—” one of the colonels said before being interrupted by the Colonel-General.

“Perhaps the most astute question asked, today,” he said. He gestured to the lieutenant. “Proceed.”

The lieutenant had thought this through carefully, and was prepared.

“It’s been only a few weeks since they overpowered the televisor signal and broadcast their message. A few days later they overpowered it again and broadcast the fire from the sky. If they can overpower the signal, they can monitor it. If they can monitor it, they know what the Reverends’ Council and the Scudder are planning.”

“What about it?” a colonel asked.

“Why would they care is the real question,” the lieutenant said. It was risky, but he was sure he was right. “Whywould they care if people knew their version of the Battle of Las Vegas? Why would they care if people knew that the fire in the sky was created by them and represented the bodies of children killed by the Army? Why would they care if the Scudder passed his own miracle?”

He paused. The Colonel-General knew the answer, and smiled inwardly. “Suppose you tell us, Lieutenant Riggs.”

“Because they are going to invade, and they want the people on their side. They want the people on their side more than they fear the Army knowing about them, more than they fear the Reverends knowing about them.”

“And us?” one of the colonels asked.

“We may hope that they do not know about us,” the Colonel-General said. “At least, that they do not know all there is to know about us.

“We are in agreement, then?” the Colonel-General asked. It was a rhetorical question, but he knew it made the others less likely to object if they felt they were part of the process and the decisionmaking.

“We will allow the Reverends Council and the Scudder to go ahead with this show. We will have agents among the crowd; we will have agents making a televisor recording. We will have a contingent of our Jewish scientists present with whatever detection and recording equipment they can bring. We will be silent and invisible unless an unequivocal opportunity presents itself to capture one of the boxy aeroplanes, which we believe will be present to foil the miracle.”

‘2009-03-07 USF Charleston

Artie had given me a challenge. He didn’t know it, and he didn’t mean it, but it was real, nonetheless.

“Paul, everyone says we need someone on the ground. I know you agree—” Artie’s telepathy was stronger. He was getting better at reading the Metas including me, although he wasn’t quite there, yet— “and I know you are afraid because this is different from putting someone on the ground in Australia.

“I have someone who wants very much to help. Someone who needs to help. It’s one of the kids who had explosives strapped to them, and who was going to blow up himself and the Reverends. Most of them were killed trying to destroy the Army’s tanks when they attacked us. This kid was shot in both legs. He couldn’t stand up. He couldn’t sacrifice himself like the others did. And that’s eating him up!

“Please, Paul? Daddy? You’ve got to let him do this!” Artie grabbed me in a hug and put his head on my shoulder. I felt his tears, and I felt his determination.

“You boys sure know how to play your boyfriend and daddy, don’t you?” I asked. There was a bit of laughter in my voice, and a lot of sadness. Artie understood. He stopped crying and looked at me with a grin.

“George is such a good teacher,” he said.

“Who is this boy?” I asked.

“Terry,” Artie said. “He’s the one who asked you to adopt him at that first meeting, and he’s the first one who asked to go on a humint mission.”

I remembered the boy. He’d been about twelve, just the age to be most attractive to the Reverends. Had the attack succeeded, they would have welcomed him into their orgy. He was cute, but he was also strong enough to carry the forty pounds of explosives that had been strapped to his body. He was also strong enough to have blown up himself and a bunch of Reverends had the mission succeeded.

“Who adopted him?” I asked. I didn’t have to ask if he’d been adopted. All of Artie’s boys including those who had died had been adopted by someone in Fleet. Two of the dead boys were my sons.

“Admiral Davis, sir,” Artie said.

“Nova sol!” I said. “And don’t call me sir unless we’re in public! Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“No excuse, sir,” Artie said. I felt his worry, maybe a little fear.

“Artie, son, I love you. You have done nothing wrong,” I said. “It would have been nice to know, though.”

Tobor assured me that the link to Admiral Davis was secure. When the Admiral’s image appeared on my screen, I began.

“Admiral, Prime Minister Lloyd-George didn’t have to put up with a bunch of boys who have been asked to give up their childhood and do things that boys their age shouldn’t have to do. And a couple of those boys including your son have put me in an untenable position. Partly because I didn’t know you had adopted one of my boys.”

‘Gob-smacked’ fit Admiral Davis’s face, perfectly.

“You didn’t know about Terry?” he finally managed to ask.

“No sir. Did you know he was demanding to be made a humint resource at Fatima-South Rim?”

“Actually, I did, Paul. I didn’t say anything to you because I assumed… I thought… Nova sol! I don’t know what I thought.”

“What do I do, sir?” I asked. “And don’t, please, don’t say that it’s my decision. I’ve never had to put Danny or George or Artie in real danger, so I don’t know what it feels like. Please, sir, I’m asking a father as a father. This isn’t something that belongs in the chain-of-command.”

“Paul, sometimes I forget that for all that you are, you are barely twenty years old—no longer a boy, but not quite yet a man—who has been thrust into situations for which no one could be properly prepared. You, too, gave up your childhood.”

I thought of the super-soaker battles at Edmonton, the ice hockey and painting red the thumb of Flinabbity Flonatin. I remembered the cricket matches in India—and nights spent with a brown-skinned boy with black eyes. I thought of theme parks and archaeological digs with Danny and later, with George. Not entirely, sir, was on my lips, but I didn’t want to contradict the admiral, nor interrupt his train of thought. So I remained silent.

“I owe you an answer,” Davis said. “Not only as a father, but as someone who has some thirty years more experience than you.”

Admiral Davis paused to gather his thoughts.

“Paul, Terry wants to do this. He has explained to me why he wants to do this, and I understand his reasons. I accept his reasons. The risk, however, is not easy for me to accept, but he is my son. I love him, and I am willing to accept his reasoning and his desire.

“Paul? A favor? May I visit Terry before…” The admiral couldn’t finish the sentence. I was barely able to choke out a yes, sir before terminating the call.

I summoned Artie and George to my Ready Room.

“Artie, please tell Terry that he will be assigned humint responsibilities at Fatima-South Rim.

“Danny, make sure he has everything our people can equip him with to protect him without revealing our technology. A locator and sub-vocals embedded under his skin. Better get that done immediately so there will be time for him to heal.

“George, I want at least one Meta watching him telepathically every second he’s on the ground. Task the Ops Team to create a plan to retrieve him, just as we have a plan to retrieve pilots. Dedicate the flag shuttle and one of the antique planes from the Enterprise to that task.

“But don’t tell him that his father will visit us in the next couple of hours. That should be a surprise.”

It wasn’t hard to conceal Admiral Davis’s visit. Of course, Captain Moultrie had to know. After spending some time with Terry, the Admiral surprised me with a visit. I scrambled to my feet when he walked into my Ready Room.

He looked at me, tilted his head, and asked, “Paul? Didn’t you know I was here?”

“Yes, sir. I mean, I knew you were on the Charleston, but… no, sir, I didn’t know you were here… I mean, outside my Ready Room.”

“I thought you could sense danger,” the admiral said.

“Just so,” I said after thinking about it. “But you are not a danger, sir.”

“Paul, I know you never knew your father, and that you’re a father and a father figure, to a lot of boys.” I didn’t have to hear what he was thinking to understand. He was offering his shoulder, his wisdom, and something more than the already close—albeit professional—relationship we’d developed.

It was a most excellent meeting, and discussion. When it was over, Admiral Davis stood. I rose, and accepted his hug.

Chapter 51: Fatima

The Army had been busy for several days. Trainloads of equipment ranging from field kitchens to water tankers to shovels had been delivered and positioned. Rows of tents a few hundred yards south of the rim had been erected for the soldiers.

Trains carrying the pilgrims had begun arriving in Williams two days before, and shunted onto sidings. More field kitchens and water tankers served them. On the day before the miracle was scheduled to take place, the trains left for the south rim, nose to tail. Boxcars reminiscent of those that had carried Jews, Gypsies, and Homosexuals to concentration camps in other realities were filled with serfs. The number of serfs who died before the trains reached the south rim was considered acceptable.

The night had been unseasonably hot, and the pilgrims had slept little, enveloped in the heated night air and the miasma of trench latrines. By dawn, lines at the tanker cars that dispensed water were already long, as were those at the field kitchens that offered a plain breakfast.

A soldier accosted a child who was carrying his breakfast away from the field kitchen.

“Who are you?” Where are your parents?” a soldier demanded.

“I don’t know, sir,” the boy answered. “I lost them.”

“What town are you from?” the soldier pressed the boy for an answer. “Where are your documents?”

Terry stuttered. He’d forgotten the name of the town he was supposed to be from, and was afraid. The soldier raised his pistol. Easier to kill this one than to find out where he’s from, the man thought.

“Tom!” A man’s voice cut through the hubbub. “Tom, where have you been?” A man stood between the boy and the soldier, and addressed the soldier.

“Colonel! Please forgive my nephew. He’s simple, and shouldn’t be here. But my sister… you understand, don’t you?” The voice was that of a serf. The man continued. “Please, won’t you let me take him? His mother, my sister, is worried…?”

The sergeant, who had many more things than a wayward, retarded boy to worry about, nodded and returned his pistol to its holster. The man grabbed Terry’s hand, and led him away.

When they were far away from the soldier, the man released Terry’s hand and faced the boy. “I do not know who you are,” he said. “I know that you do not belong here. I will not ask you to tell me anything, but I will ask that you stay with me. I may be able to protect you.”

By 0900, most of the serfs had been fed and given water. Those who had not been would not be. The field kitchens had been closed; the spigots on the tank cars turned off. It was time for the miracle, and Tannoys set on poles throughout the area called the faithful to worship. The music was Bach: Hertz und Mund und Tat und Leben, although neither Robert Bridges nor Martin Jahn would have recognized the words.

“Look to the sun!” the voice from the Tannoy exhorted. “Look to the sun to see the miracle when it crashes into the earth before you!”

The message was repeated and reinforced by Reverends, some in black with white collars, and some dressed as serfs, who moved among the crowd.

Before the sun could blind any of the pilgrims, a breeze between two rifts began to blow across the ground. A second set of unseen rifts opened a few hundred feet above the first two. Sand whirled from one high rift to another, blocking the sun. Just enough sand fell that the pilgrims—and the Reverends—believed a sandstorm had arisen. The breeze from the lower rift reinforced the notion that the sand was windborne, and also kept if from falling into the serfs’ upraised eyes.

Dr. Adams, in a cruiser at the edge of space, hidden by distance, played his computer keyboard. The “Geeks with Guns” who had descended from space upon the CERN-Higgs facility had shown him enough that he was able to piece together, and then codify, the science of the rifts.

A sandstorm like none ever seen before whirled above the gathered pilgrims. Sand and dust flew between the people and the sun, and the sun disappeared.

“What in the hell is happening?” On the roof of the train station, beside the platform on which a televisor crew had set up their equipment, a Reverend, a colonel, and the colonel’s aide watched. They were under the sandstorm, and saw only that the sun was blocked.

A mile farther south, an Inquisitor watched from the crest of a hill. The sand… where is it coming from? There’s something unnatural—

He heard, but ignored the putt-putt from the engine of the biplane, and didn’t see the phaser bolt that ended his life.

“Who ordered in the air wing?” the colonel demanded of his aide.

“Sir, they’re not ours!”

“What in the hell are you talking about?” the Reverend asked.

“They’re not our aircraft, sir. They’re marked like ours but they’re not!” the colonel’s aide said.

“California?” the colonel suggested.

“You might as well ask if they’re from the people who have the boxy aeroplanes without wings—” the Reverend began.

“That’s exactly who they are! Get on the telegraph!” the Colonel said.

It was too late. The instant the first rifts had opened, four puffs of smoke rose from atop the telegraph line cross-arms a few miles from the canyon. The telegraph wires were severed, and dropped to the ground. A phaser bolt from a two-seater biplane knocked out one of four legs of a microwave tower. The tower tilted slowly, and then crashed to the ground. South Rim was effectively isolated.

“How long do these storms last?” the Reverend asked the colonel.

“Natural storms, maybe a day or two,” the colonel said.

“What do you mean, natural storm?” the Reverend asked.

“This isn’t natural,” the colonel said. “There’s no sand on the ground, just in the air.”

The Reverend heard this, but didn’t understand. The colonel didn’t hesitate. Natural or unnatural, the storm was going to keep the miracle from happening. His instructions were clear. He turned to his aide. “Relocate the gas generators upwind. As soon as they are in position, start them up.”

Along with the Flag Team, I was monitoring the activities from my Briefing Room. Dr. Adams was connected by video link that also carried live images from the Enterprise aircraft.

“What are they doing?” Alex asked, and put an image on the main screen.

“Relocating some equipment.”

“Relocating it upwind. Those are the gas generators. The only reason they’d move them is if they were going to use them,” Cam said.

“We can’t let them gas all those people,” I said. Or Terry. “Find a way.” I bit my lip to keep from interfering with the team’s deliberations.

“What’s the best way to stop them?” Casey asked.

“Turn off the sand?”

“Can’t let the miracle occur.”

“Phasers from the aircraft?”

“Not enough of them, and they’re not powerful enough.”

“Why not just switch the direction of the wind?” Deacon asked.

I grabbed Deacon and hugged him. “Brilliant!”

Deacon was a bit overwhelmed by his Commodore’s hug, so I released him and whispered. “Be sure to tell Isaac how smart you are, and share that hug with him.”

Deacon grinned, and I got a kiss on my cheek. He’d pretty quickly gotten over being overwhelmed.

“That will take care of the immediate problem,” I said.

Deacon knew what I meant. “We’ve got to take out the generators,” he said.

“Can we wait until dark?”

“I can keep them from gassing the people at least that long,” Dr. Adams said.

“Daddy?” George grinned. “We need to make some big explosions.”

“You are—well, you were—too clean,” the man said. “You were looking around with curiosity, you were looking out and up, and did not keep your eyes cast to the ground as a good little serf would know to do.

“When you heard the sound of the aeroplanes, you looked at them without the fear that is drummed into the serfs.

“You don’t belong here,” the man said.

Terry giggled. “Neither do you,” he said. “You speak too plainly and boldly.”

Terry hesitated, but his need for information overcame his fear. “I saw you shoot the colonel and the Reverend and the other soldier who were standing on the roof. You used a silenced pistol. The Reverends’ Army doesn’t have silenced pistols. Who are you?”

The man pondered Terry’s question and then responded to the boy’s courage and openness. “I am an agent for the Army of California. You, on the other hand, are an agent for the people who fly in boxy aeroplanes without wings and who have weapons that shoot lightning.”

The man saw fear in Terry’s face. “You don’t need to answer that,” he said. “I should not know any more about you, since I still have many, many miles to travel before I am safe. You, on the other hand, need only wait until dark and call one of the magical aeroplanes.

“My name is Major Chastain. If we ever meet again, you may tell me more about yourself. I hope that day comes.”

The man pointed toward a trail that led into the hills south of Williams, Arizona, and handed Terry a canteen of water.

“Be safe, little one,” the man whispered as the boy disappeared into the gloaming.

As always, please let David know what you think of his story: david.mcleod@castleroland.net