Saucer: The Conquest

13

"The Europeans are coming around," Henri Salmon reported to Pierre Artois. "All but the British and Dutch, who are being obstinate."

"As usual," Julie remarked.

She and Pierre had just seated themselves in the lunar base com center to listen to the president of the United States, who had asked for network time to make a speech to the nation. That speech was, of course, being broadcast worldwide. Salmon and his department heads were also there, standing because there were not enough seats.

When he appeared, the president started with a brief exposition of Pierre's demands, which amounted to a world government that Pierre would rule by fiat. The president even repeated some of Pierre's stated goals for that government, such as solving the world hunger problem, and so forth.

Then he went into a summary of the history of democratic government as it had evolved through the centuries, taking it from the Magna Carta to elected parliaments to the American Revolution to universal suffrage.

"Representative democracy is not perfect," the president said, "but I am absolutely convinced that it is the best method yet devised for making the public decisions that affect our lives, liberty and property. Similarly, the rule of law is the best method mankind has yet come up with for arbitrating personal and business disputes and resolving legal issues. The rule of law is also not perfect. Still, both institutions have grown and taken root in Western civilization and are, I believe, our legacy to the generations of mankind yet to come. Both institutions are being slowly adopted, and adapted to local conditions, in fits and starts by developing nations all over the globe. I stand before you today as an elected official of our constitutional democracy; like every president before me, I have sworn an oath to uphold and defend that Constitution."

The president continued on for a few minutes more, but Pierre pushed a button to silence the audio. He had gotten the message.

"We've been too gentle," Julie said. "We've been attacking things, trying to minimize the loss of life." She managed to imply that choice had been an act of humanitarian kindness. A cynic might have disagreed, but there were no cynics in the com center, only true believers. "It's time to take off the gloves," she added flatly.

"Some reporter has gotten wind of your saucer ride," P.J. O'Reilly told the president after his speech. "He called my office minutes ago to see if we wanted to comment."

The president pondered a bit before he answered. "No comment," he said finally.

O'Reilly was horrified. "But, sir, the press will think we have something to hide. The congressional opposition will demand an investigation."

"Let 'em investigate. We've got other things to worry about."

Sensing that he was not getting through, O'Reilly attacked from another direction. "The press will imply that you've launched the saucer on a military mission to the moon."

The president brightened. "I did."

"They'll want to know specifics."

The president thought about it. Rip Cantrell and Charley Pine — they were sure nice young people. He took a deep breath. A rescue mission, Rip said. Well, he and Charley were bright enough and courageous enough to do the right thing.

"No comment," the president said, "about the saucer or anything connected to it. Pierre can sweat a little."

The trip to the moon in a flying saucer was, Egg Cantrell thought, the high point of his life. During his waking hours he sat in the pilot's seat wearing the headset that allowed him to talk to the saucer's computers. Looking through the canopy into deep space, watching the moon move against the stars, glancing over his shoulder at the spinning earth while exploring the wisdom of the ancients— it made him feel as if he were sitting at a window that allowed him to look at the eternal. He was beginning to get a glimmer of the how and why; it felt as if he could see the springs and gears that made the universe turn.

When he took off the headset and sat silently looking, he found himself thinking of the people and events in his own life from a different perspective. His parents and his childhood friends and experiences seemed to become part of the warp and woof of life. His personal and professional triumphs and failures — he had had his share of both — seemed somehow less significant. Now he saw life as a grand, glori-

ous adventure, and in some mysterious, almost mystical way, he was a part of all of it and it was a part of him.

Egg didn't get to spent all his time lost in thought. Chad-wick used his satellite radio to check in with the men in the moon on a regular basis, and to chat with the people at Mission Control in France. That was how he learned of the president's upcoming speech, which he, Egg and the two Frenchmen, whom Egg referred to as Fry One and Fry Two, listened to as it was broadcast.

"Politicians are ambitious, venal and selfish," Chadwick said as the president talked about representative democracy.

Egg couldn't resist. "And dictators aren't, which is probably why people all over the planet are ridding themselves of them as quickly as they can."

"Pierre Artois isn't," Chadwick asserted. "He's a friend of all mankind."

Egg let it drop. He consoled himself with the thought that reasoning with fanatics was a fool's errand. And Chadwick was a fanatic, he well knew, a dangerous one.

After the speech, they listened to news commentary from "experts" and a report that a saucer had been seen flying around Washington, D.C., earlier in the day and was now thought to be outfitting for a flight to the moon.

Chadwick discussed that tidbit with Artois on the moon using the encrypted radio. Both men spoke in French, but Egg didn't need to understand their words to know they were worried men. He could see the strain on Chadwick's face and on the countenances of Fry One and Two, who whispered back and forth.

Egg sighed and tried to keep a poker face. It was difficult. Rip and Charley must be planning to come to the moon, no doubt in an attempt to rescue him. It would be exceedingly dangerous, he thought. In addition to the length of the journey in a craft not designed for it, a battle on the moon held little appeal.

Someone was going to die. He prayed it wouldn't be Rip or Charley.

Egg went back into the computers, which were very similar to the one at his house that he had been studying for a year. As near as Egg could determine, each computer had four programs devoted to analyzing data and attempting to collaborate with their human creators by generating and testing new ideas, new hypotheses. When a computer was given information, it would assimilate it, generate a theory, test it against known physical laws and then look for connections between this new theory and others.

To perform these feats the computer used four programs running simultaneously. Egg had named them. Franklin had a short attention span and jumped off in a new direction with each piece of data, brainstorming into areas that at first appeared implausible. Jefferson was pickier and only toyed with novel or interesting ideas. The Professor was more pedantic, exploring ideas only when they conformed to its preconceived concepts and rules. Einstein, more thorough, explored different shades and implications of ideas from any source, including his three colleagues, and occasionally arrived at a profound insight.

Egg lived for Einstein's insights, when he understood them. He communicated with a computer by watching it work and trying to understand the reality that it was exploring. The medium wasn't language; it was thoughts. He saw the thoughts, felt them and watched his four horsemen continuously mold and shape them, trying them out.

Egg found that he wasn't in the mood for computers. Nor did the games they contained interest him. Normally he had to ration himself on the games, which were interactive intellectual exercises presumably designed to stimulate the minds of interstellar voyagers. He couldn't stop thinking of Rip and Charley.

A few hours later Chadwick had another long conversation with Pierre. When that was over he said to Egg, "In about four hours, when the moon is over Washington, Pierre will teach the Americans a lesson they'll never forget."

"He's a friend of all mankind," Egg murmured.

"Eggs must be broken—"

"Ah, for the lunar omelet."

"They will thank him someday. Few revolutions are bloodless."

"Nor conquests, as I recall."

"The people of the earth must learn to obey, for their own good. Fear will teach them that lesson."

"Let's hear it for fear," Egg muttered, but Chadwick apparently decided that he had argued enough and ignored the remark. As he floated away he unconsciously adjusted the fanny pack.

Two hours later Egg was the only one in the saucer awake. The sleeping men were suspended in makeshift hammocks, which merely kept them from floating into something — or each other — while they slept.

As Egg sat staring at Newton Chadwick, he realized that Chadwick had forgotten to snap his fanny pack in place on his last visit to the head. He could clearly see the snap, and it was unlatched. A portion of the pack hung through a gap in the hammock netting that held the sleeping man.

It appeared one could merely pull the pack another few inches though that hole and open it.

If the deed were done quietly enough, Egg mused, perhaps Chadwick wouldn't awaken.

Rn> and Charley missed the president's speech. They were too busy supervising the installation of the water bladders and checking for leaks. A leak on the ground would be a gusher under four Gs of acceleration. Going to the moon waist deep in water didn't seem like a good idea.

When they had the new bladder tanks full and all their gear stowed, Charley and Rip shook hands with the air force personnel and climbed aboard. Outside the hangar, the moon had risen just as night fell. This was the night of the full moon.

Charley and Rip both found themselves taking long looks at the moon as the saucer sat bathed in moonlight outside the hangar while Charley programmed the flight computer.

Six minutes after Rip closed the hatch, the saucer rose from the earth on a cone of white-hot fire. The fireball appeared like a rising sun to many on the south side of the metropolitan area.

The president was packing papers in the Oval Office— which was probably going to go up in a cloud of splinters in just a few hours — when the saucer's deep roar rattled the windows and chandeliers of the executive mansion. He stood frozen, listening intently, until the noise of the saucer had faded completely. Then he smiled.

When they had completed the lunar orbit inser-tion burn and were coasting on course for the moon, Rip checked the plumbing for leaks. It was difficult moving in and out of the tight spaces when weightless. He felt like a worm crawling around the pipes and pumps. Finally he wiggled clear and reported to Charley, who was still sitting in the pilot's seat working with the flight computer.

"Everything is dry," he said.

When he reached her and got a look at her face, the grim-ness he saw surprised him. "Charley…"

"Pierre is going to trash Washington," she said bitterly.

"He was going to do that sooner or later. You know that."

She finished with the computer and sat staring at the moon, which was well off to her left.

"How far do you think these antiprotons will travel in a vacuum?" she asked Rip.

He glanced at her. She was staring at the moon. "I don't know," he said. "Want to try an experiment?"

"Why not," she muttered, and turned the saucer so that the moon was directly in front of them.

"We don't even know how fast the antiprotons go," Rip said. "So we don't know whether it will take seconds or minutes or hours for them to get there. The chance of a hit is mighty small."

"Infinitesimal," Charley agreed.

The crosshairs of the optical sight had appeared on the canopy as she spoke. She looked to see where the lines intersected, then directed the computer to fine-tune the saucer's position, which moved the crosshairs slightly. Of course, they were so thick that at this distance the junction covered miles of the moon's surface.

The lunar base was… there, on the edge of that sea, to the south of that mountain range, which could only be seen at this great distance as a fine shadow line.

Fire!

The small light appeared on the sight. The antimatter weapon was discharging.

She tweaked the crosshairs in the direction the moon was traveling in space as the weapon continued to fire a stream of antiprotons into the vacuum.

After thirty seconds, when the crosshairs were on the edge of the lunar orb, she stopped the discharge.

"Well," Rip said, his disappointment audible, "that was a nonevent. It's not like I expected the moon to blow up, but still…"

"Sort of like tossing a pebble into the Atlantic," Charley said, and sighed. She was still thinking of those spaceplanes. She rubbed her face.

"I'm so tired," she murmured, and unfastened her seat belt. Rip reached for her, and she floated into his arms.

Traveling at half the speed of light, the antimat-ter particles shot through the vacuum of space, across the empty two-hundred-thousand-mile gulf that separated the coasting saucer and the moon. As they did they dispersed slightly, so by the time the particles reached the moon they fell like rain across a ten-mile swath of the lunar surface.

Still moving at half of the speed of light, each particle shot through the dust and rock of the lunar surface until it encountered a proton speeding in its orbit around an atom's nucleus. When they collided, the two particles spontaneously obliterated each other, releasing a colossal burst of energy. Sometimes the detonation took place with inches of the surface; sometimes, depending on the density of the material, it happened much deeper, at a depth of several feet.

Although each explosion was quite large in relation to the size of the particles involved, the particles were indeed very small, so the explosions resembled large firecracker detonations.

The vast majority of the particles fell across the empty wasteland, and no living thing was there to witness their self-destruction. The wave marched across the lunar surface, and by sheer chance, one edge of it crossed the French lunar base. Most of the antimatter particles detonated harmlessly, although one did pass through a solar power cell. It met its opposite particle six inches deep in the rock underneath, and the shards of rock blasted upward by the explosion destroyed the power cell. Since there were hundreds of power cells, the loss of one was undetected by the voltage-monitoring equipment.

Those two dozen antimatter particles that impacted the soil over the lunar base met their positrons in the rock, before they reached the caverns underneath, and the explosions rocked the base. Dust fell from the overhead; people felt the triphammer concussions, which triggered the seismic and air-pressure-loss alarms. As alarms clanged throughout the base, people dove frantically for their space suits, just in case.

Two of the particles penetrated the cover above the anti-gravity beam generator and telescope. One detonated a foot deep in the rock floor, showering the room with dust and bits of rock, while creating a nasty small crater. The other went off simultaneously six inches under the surface; the resulting explosion severed a data cable between the telescope and the main computer.

Julie and Pierre Artois and Claudine Courbet were at the console, inputting the coordinates for the major buildings they planned to pulverize in Washington, D.C., during the next hour. They looked around wildly, trying to understand what was happening, as the gong and wail of the alarms sounded even while the debris slowly settled from the explosions.

"What was that?" Pierre demanded.

No one answered. When it became clear that the base wasn't losing air, and the alarms had been reset and were once again silent, he and Julie and Claudine took stock. That was when they discovered that the telescope was inoperative. Seconds later Claudine found the severed cable.

"A meteor shower," Pierre said dismissively. All his life he had minimized difficulties and then plowed his way through.

Julie, however, was made of different, more paranoid, stuff. With no evidence at all, she leaped to a completely different conclusion. "It's a weapon of some kind! That Pine woman! She must have used it on the spaceplanes."

Pierre snorted. After all, /j^was the emperor of France. "It was in Washington just hours ago. Even if it is headed for the moon, it is three days away. A weapon with a range of 238,000 miles? Preposterous!"

Yet the fact remained that something had struck the lunar base. Just what it was, no one could say.

As the United States spun under the lunar base, the emperor's technicians worked to rig a new cable.

In Washington the president and an expectant nation waited… and nothing happened. The absence of the promised disaster stunned the experts, who debated the nonevent on television, explaining their different visions of what it might mean and arguing bitterly among themselves.

"Pierre Artois," the secretary of state said hopefully in an interview, "must have come to his senses." She listed the possible reasons why, dwelling heavily on the sanctity of human life and Pierre's progressive goals, but the network cut away midway through her exposition to air a Viagra commercial, depriving the public of the benefit of her views.

Coasting toward the moon, oblivious to the media frenzy on the mother planet, Rip and Charley slept in each other's arms.