Culpepper's Last Flight
Chapter 32
XXXII
The lieutenant's face turned ashy white, and he appeared to reel. He ran one hand through his hair nervously then laid it on the back of the chair beside him. The young airman noticed that the knuckles of the lieutenant's hand were turning white as he held onto the back of the chair; and realizing that something was very, very wrong, he turned several shades lighter himself… "What? What's the matter?"
"Barker's going to fire a missile into an anti-matter reactor in that UFO up there… with my plane," Strickland said, trying to sound calmer than he actually was. "If he does… it'll be the end of… maybe the world… but at least this hemisphere. Do you know what even a small amount of destabilized anti-matter could do?"
The airman shook his head. "Maybe they have a secure containment field or something around their reactor."
"Maybe," the lieutenant agreed, "but I can't take that chance… the WORLD can't take that chance. I've got to get to a radio."
Lieutenant Strickland ran from the airmen's barracks and jumped into a small truck that was sitting in front of the barracks with the keys still in it, then he drove across the airfield to the control tower. As fast as he could, he ran up the stairs and knocked desperately on the door. He heard the electronic latch unlock, and one of the controllers opened the door.
"Lieutenant?"
"I need to come in."
The controller moved aside to let Lieutenant Strickland enter then immediately turned his attention back to the UFO on the horizon. It was clearly visible in the distance from the tower, and both of the controllers were watching it intently with something akin to deep awe, even though it sat quite a few miles away from the airfield or the base itself, over the Mesaliko Reservation and the town of Roswell.
"I don't have time to explain," Strickland said, grabbing for the microphone. He needn't have bothered. The two controllers weren't paying any attention to anything that he was doing. Strickland pressed the button to speak…
"Barker! Barker, come in!"
There was no answer. Strickland called again, but Barker was apparently not answering his radio. He probably had it turned off. That would be something Barker would do. That way if he was ordered back to base he could say that he never heard the order and blame Strickland with leaving his radio turned off.
"Dammit, Barker, come in!" Strickland yelled over the radio one more time. For a moment, he seemed to despair… but then he turned to the controllers…
"Has anyone tried to contact that ship up there?"
"What for," the younger of the two controllers asked, with a tone of amusement in his voice. "We don't have anyone on the base who speaks Martian."
"Did it ever occur to you that maybe they might understand US," Lieutenant Strickland asked, turning the frequency dial to scan for any possible signal source.
"What would we say to them," the second controller asked.
"You might try, 'hello!'" Strickland said with a tone of obvious irritation in his own voice.
Strickland picked up the mike and pressed the button again…
"This is… uh… this is Lieutenant David Strickland… If anyone can hear me on that ship… this is important. Come back… I mean, uh… reply!"
Strickland turned the dial several times, each time repeating his message again, then a few moments later, he got an unexpected surprise…
"Go ahead, Lieutenant Strickland. We're listening."
Both controllers looked at each other, their eyes wide.
Strickland pressed the button on the mike again… "Uh… okay, we, uh… we have… well, YOU have… WE ALL, I guess, have an emergency situation here. One of our agents is going to fly a fighter jet into a large vent on your ship. He intends to fire a missile into the reactor as he flies through the core. Do you understand me?"
There was silence on the radio. For a moment, Lieutenant Strickland's heart sank into his stomach. Maybe they hadn't understood anything he had said. What had made him think that they would understand him anyway? They probably didn't even know what a jet was… or a missile… at least not by those names. And Barker… or Culpepper, as he preferred to call himself, would be getting there very soon… if he wasn't there already.
"Lieutenant," a voice came back over the air finally, "I have someone here who is qualified to discuss the risks with you."
"I am Varec," a different voice said, with an accent that the lieutenant couldn't place. The other voice had sounded… well, now that he thought about it, almost American… perhaps even New Mexican. This new one, though, was different somehow… maybe Canadian. No. Not Canadian… Definitely not Canadian…
"Mister Varec," Lieutenant Strickland said, shaking himself out of his thoughts and back to the matters at hand, "your ship and our world are in danger. If Agent Barker flies into your ship's vent and fires a missile into your anti-matter reactor… and manages to blow it up… it could destroy not only your ship but potentially half of our world."
"You are well-informed," the voice from the ship above said.
"And desperate," Strickland said sternly. "There's no time. Barker may be there already."
"Wouldn't the outflow of air push anything back out of the vent," Strickland heard the first voice ask the one named Varec.
"A bird, yes, Zan… maybe even a small plane," Varec replied… "but probably not a slip-stream… what you call a 'jet.' It has enough power and speed to fly into our vent, but I do not think that it could fly through the containment area in the core."
"I hope you're right," the first voice said… "because I think I see it coming now."
Max, Michael, Varec, Liz, Alex, Isabel, Maria, and the others who were currently on the bridge crowded nearer to the huge front window of the ship to catch a glimpse of the fast approaching fighter jet.
"Strickland," Varec said, "Warn your pilot not to enter the core! He will not survive."
In the pilot's seat of the approaching F-14 fighter jet, Barker, alias Agent Culpepper, sat transfixed, gazing at the huge mothership ahead of him with a single-minded, blind fanaticism and a trace of a smile on his face. He never really entertained the thought that anything could go wrong with his plan. Of course, somewhere deep inside his mind, he knew that it could… but there was a certain arrogant self-assuredness about Culpepper that wouldn't allow him to seriously consider failure. He was sure of himself. He was sure of his abilities. He was sure of his plan.
Barker aligned the F-14 Tomcat with the huge spaceship's oval-shaped starboard vent and adjusted his speed and flaps slightly, rotating the plane's adjustable wings out just a bit for stability as he slowed the jet's forward speed to make any final course adjustments. The plane wobbled ever so slightly as it continued to speed toward the opening. Seeing himself right on course, Barker increased the throttle to full and turned on the afterburners.
Strickland pressed the button on his mike to warn Culpepper away, but it was already too late. At that moment, Barker's fully-armed F-14 Tomcat flew straight into the starboard vent at full throttle and with afterburners blazing. Max looked at Varec then at Michael. Both of them stood there silently… waiting.
It was exactly as Barker had imagined it inside the huge oval-shaped vent… The passage was easily sixty feet high… probably a bit more… and it was wider than four F-14 Tomcats placed wing to wing, not enough room to turn a jet around in but certainly enough for any crack pilot like himself to fly through. Barker's F-14 Tomcat, by comparison, was sixteen feet high and had a wingspan of 64 feet, 1.5 inches "spread," which is at their maximum span. The wings can be drawn back into the "swept" position, which reduces their span to only 38 feet, 2.5 inches, or "overswept" position, which reduces them almost another five feet, to 33 feet, 3.5 inches.
As Barker flew into the huge vent, he did notice a significant amount of air resistance. His plane's airspeed dropped by about one fourth as it encountered the outflow of air coming from the core. It felt a bit like driving a car into a strong headwind. But Barker was not concerned. At full speed or three quarters speed, his success, he was absolutely positive, was assured. The plane's afterburners would push him through the heavy outflow of air on the way in and onward to the core. There, he would fire his missiles… then the rushing outflow of air on the other side of the ship would actually provide him with a tailwind, helping him to get out before the ship exploded, as he exited with the airflow. It was a sweet plan.
What Barker, alias Culpepper, did not know was that the reactor was actually well protected and totally impervious to any of his missiles. But more important than that, to Culpepper, would have been the knowledge that the reactor was cooled by forced air flowing around the inside of the entire core at a speed greater than that of any hurricane ever known on earth. In a sense, this was a ship that actually breathed. When they were not in space, air was sucked in literally through every centimeter of the skin of the ship and diverted into the core where it flowed around the reactor many times before being vented out through the huge vents. The system was very efficient… but incredibly violent, wind-wise, within the core itself. In the vacuum of space, the air was unnecessary to protect the reactor.
As Culpepper flew Strickland's F-14 Tomcat ever deeper into the enormous passageway inside the vent, heading toward the core of the mothership, Max and the others braced themselves for… they weren't quite sure what. But Varec knew. It was he, after all, who had designed the ship… and he had helped to build it. Approximately forty seconds after entering the vent… a bit longer than expected due to the heavy air flow being vented from the core… Culpepper was approaching his expected target. Then he saw the huge, swirling storm circling the core ahead of him. It looked like a half-mile-wide monster tornado. There was no way around it. Belatedly realizing what he was flying right into, Culpepper instinctively pressed his right foot hard to the floor in a brief moment of sheer panic, but there was no brake pedal.
Suddenly and with total clarity, if only for a brief second, Culpepper realized that he was doomed.
The fighter jet slammed into the howling 3000-mile-per-hour winds with the force of a train wreck, and the winds slammed the jet to the side like a sledgehammer hitting a fly, exploding the plane's already armed missiles one after the other. What was left… because it could no longer be identified as a jet… tumbled around the core with the wind, as it continued to break into smaller and smaller pieces. Within a matter of mere seconds, it had been reduced to tiny motes of flotsam barely large enough to even recognize. These circled the core a few hundred times at 3000 miles per hour before being ejected from the starboard and port vents and fluttering to the ground below like a million tiny silvery butterflies sparkling and glinting in the sunlight of a bright new day.
In a way, the silvery, glistening confetti falling in streams from the ship's vents was almost beautiful. As for Culpepper, his body had either been pounded into oblivion by the winds and by the unexpected premature explosions of his own missiles or simply absorbed by the anti-matter reactor… in which case, Culpepper may ironically actually have provided a millisecond or two of extra energy to the ship that he had sought to destroy.
Varec swallowed nervously but was clearly unsurprised when no one onboard felt so much as a bump… even as all the missiles of the fighter jet blew up one-by-one inside the core. Fortunately, the explosions were effectively damped by the ferocious winds and caused no damage whatever to the ship or to the reactor.
"What's going on there," the voice of Lieutenant Strickland crackled over the radio. "What's happening?"
"I believe you will need to replace your… jet," Varec said simply, in total seriousness… "and your agent."
There was a momentary silence over the radio before Strickland replied.
"Then the world is safe… and I take it, you are, too."
"We are all safe," Varec said, confirming Strickland's statement.
"Good," Strickland said simply, his voice a bit shaky but seeming sincere. "That's good."
"Lieutenant Strickland," the southwestern-sounding voice of the one named Zan said, returning once again to the air… "Thank you."
"For what?" Strickland asked, genuinely unassuming. "I didn't do anything… well, nothing that helped anyone."
"You did. You warned us. If we had needed to stop your agent, we could have done so… because of your warning… but it wasn't necessary for us to take extraordinary, uh, 'measures' to stop him. The reactor is quite safe when the ship is in the atmosphere… because of the cooling winds that blow around it… and in space, where it doesn't need to be cooled, it's still well protected, I assure you, even without the winds. I am sorry about your… your loss, though."
Strickland sighed. "Yes… that was a fine plane… an F-14 Tomcat."
"Yeah… well… I was referring to the pilot, actually," Zan replied.
"Culpepper?" Strickland exclaimed impulsively, momentarily sounding unexpectedly shocked. "Yeah well… thanks… but he knew what he was doing. That's the problem really. He did know what he was doing… and he would have destroyed the world."
"Lieutenant Strickland."
"Yes?"
"There are a good many other jets… and helicopters… still flying around our ship. You may want to warn them of what will happen if any of them has any idea about flying through the core like your agent did."
"I don't think that will be necessary," Strickland said, actually managing a slight smile, "I think they got the message… It's still streaming out of your vents."
"Our systems are showing more jets approaching from the east, Lieutenant. Are they planning to attack the reservation… or us? Their pilots may not be aware of what happened to your Agent."
Lieutenant Strickland seemed surprised by this information. He glanced at the radar screen and saw that indeed not one but possibly even two squadrons were approaching the area. They were still about sixty miles out, but that was only a few brief minutes for a modern fighter jet like the F-14 Tomcat, F-16 Fighting Falcon, or F/A-18 Hornet. Strickland motioned to one of the controllers…
"Find out where those jets are coming from. Warn them not to enter restricted air space."
The controller nodded without answering and put on his headphones. Then he checked his equipment.
"They're coming from Alabama… and from Texas… two different squadrons."
"Can you contact them?"
"I'm trying. They're not answering."
"Give me the mike," Strickland said, picking up the other microphone again…
"This is Lieutenant David Strickland… to the squadrons heading toward Roswell from Alabama and Texas. Unless you turn now, your vectored course will take you over a high security area that is off-limits to anyone who does not have specific clearance… even if you are military. If you do not turn back or I do not receive the proper clearance, I will be forced to have you brought down."
There was a momentary pause, then a voice came back over the air…
"Lieutenant Strickland… this is, uh, 'Eagle Scout'… with Bravo Squadron out of Dannelly NGB… in Alabama. Where is General Hawkins? He was supposed to pass on our orders to the control tower."
Strickland looked at the two young air traffic controllers with him in the tower, and they both shrugged.
"We haven't seen him… He didn't give us any orders."
Strickland pressed the button on his mike. "That's a good question, Eagle Scout. I haven't seen the general today. No one I know of has. I'll have to confirm your clearance personally. Do not enter restricted airspace until I have confirmed you."
Strickland picked up the nearby phone and hastily dialed a number. He listened, then moments later, he set the phone down.
"You didn't say anything," the younger controller said.
"I didn't have to," Lieutenant Strickland replied. "There are… channels that you don't know of."
Strickland pressed the button again on his microphone…
"Eagle Squadron and Bravo Squadron, you are both cleared for approach. Is there anything I can do for you, sir?"
"I think you're doing it, Lieutenant. It looks like you're right where you're needed."
"Yes, sir… uh… is it your intent, sir… if I may ask… to attack that, uh, spaceship up there? If it is, I have to tell you something. It wouldn't be advisable. Besides, I don't think they're here as aggressors. I think they're basically friendly."
"So I've been told, Lieutenant. I'm counting on that. The purpose of our visit is to help straighten things out down there… with the native Americans on the Mesaliko Reservation… and, hopefully, with our special visitors… up there."
"Yes, sir!" Lieutenant Strickland replied, his voice taking on a brighter and more hopeful tone. "Sir, there are three squadrons of F-16's, F-14's, and F/A-18's… and, I believe, nine Cobra helicopters… currently engaged in… 'maneuvers' in the area of the reservation… and around the 'visitors' ship, in particular…"
"We want those maneuvers stopped, Lieutenant… immediately! General Hawkins was ordered to terminate this operation."
"Uh… doesn't appear that he did so, sir."
"Yeah… That's the information we received, too, Lieutenant. That's why we needed to get some special units in there to straighten things out. And Lieutenant…"
"Yes, sir."
"Temporarily… you are in charge there."
"I don't think anyone will listen to me, sir. I'm a lieutenant… General Hawkins far outranks me."
"Then we'll have to make you a general, too."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me… You're in charge, General Strickland! Your first order is to stop those 'maneuvers' at the reservation and any harassment of that ship. Our ETA is eight minutes. Any planes still involved in 'maneuvers' on the Mesaliko Reservation or in the vicinity of that ship when we arrive WILL be forced down or back to base… or destroyed. Please make that very clear to them. That operation is OVER!"
"Yes, sir!"
Strickland immediately picked up the mike and turned the frequency to the channel used by the fighter pilots.
"All pilots involved in 'Operation Seeing Red'… Culpepper is no longer your immediate superior. Actually, I think he's no longer… at all. In addition, General Hawkins has been relieved of his authority over these 'maneuvers' and over this base, and you have been ordered to cease operations immediately and return to base. This order comes from the highest levels. Any failure to obey immediately will be dealt with by forcing you into compliance… by any means deemed necessary. This is Lieu… uh… General Strickland. If anyone has any question about these orders, address them to me at the base after you have returned. I repeat… Operation Seeing Red is over! Return to base immediately!"
Strickland set the microphone down and looked at the two controllers, who looked back at him with something close to the awe with which they had been watching the UFO earlier…
"General…?"
Strickland nodded and shrugged. "That's what the man said."
"How many stars?"
Strickland smiled. "I don't know. He didn't say. I'd guess one… I only became a general today."
Strickland picked up the microphone again and adjusted the frequency to where he had found the spaceship before… then he pressed the button.
"Zan… Varec… This is Lieutenant Strickland… uh, I mean, General Strickland. I was just put in charge of everything that is going on here, and I've recalled the fighter jets and other units to base. They should give you no more problems."
"General…?"
"Uh, yeah… I'll tell you about it sometime… if we ever meet."
"That could be arranged, General. Are you interested?"
Strickland choked momentarily.
"I… well, yeah… I am… but I'm in charge here… I can't…"
"Go for it," a voice broke in over the radio.
"Who is this?" Strickland asked.
"Eagle Scout here. General, you have a unique opportunity to learn more about our, uh, visitors… and what we can do for each other. Go for it… if you're game that is."
"Yes, sir!" Strickland said.
"I guess you heard, Zan."
"We heard. I'll pick you up."
The message ended. Strickland looked at the UFO on the distant horizon. It was huge. Even from this far away, it looked somewhat like a beautiful, multiple-level, super large Frisbee just hanging there in the sky. But as Strickland and the two controllers watched, the UFO began to move toward them. They watched it grow larger and larger surprisingly quickly… it took only fifteen seconds to reach the base, and that was at nothing near its potential speed. None of the three men in the control tower had actually realized just how large the ship really was. Now that it was closer, they saw that it was a complete city floating in the air. The ship may have been only three miles across, but it looked to the three men like all of fifteen, at least, as it approached. Finally, the 'city in the sky' floated directly over the control tower, blocking out the sun from above. In every direction they looked, the three men could see only the ship above them. About a mile and a half away, they could just make out the edge of the ship where the sunlight peeked around and under it from above. In total amazement, the two controllers turned back to look at Strickland… but at that moment, he disappeared in front of their eyes.
"Welcome to our little spaceship, General," Zan said, holding out his hand and smiling. Michael and Varec stood beside him…
"I am Varec," Varec said, offering his own hand in turn.
"I'm Michael… Some people call me Rath," Michael said, extending his hand to Strickland after Varec.
"Rath is our General in charge of all the armies," Varec noted.
"How many armies do you have," Strickland asked impulsively.
Michael smiled. "Just one."
"But if we had more, he'd be in charge of them," Zan said.
Strickland smiled and nodded, looking around…
"This is really an amazing ship. It's so huge inside."
"This is just the cargo bay," Zan said, motioning Strickland to come with them. "The ship has seven levels. This is the lowest level, level 1. There are thirty-two rooms, or compartments, around the perimeter of the cargo bay, and each one has something in it that we need or that we are storing. One of your planes is in one of them. Level 2 is the dining room and galley. There is also a separate recycling and processing sector on level 2. Level 3 is the living quarters, lounge, and game rooms; level 4 is the bridge and control deck… and the engine rooms; level 5 is the gardens, where we grow all our food; level 6 is the arboretum, where our oxygen is produced while in space; and level 7 is the observatory. I think that covers it, doesn't it Michael?"
Michael nodded.
Zan placed his hand momentarily over a handprint on the wall and opened the glass ascension chamber.
"After you, General."
Strickland swallowed but stepped into the chamber. To his relief, Zan, Rath, and Varec followed him in. Then the chamber began to rise. After a few seconds, it stopped and the door reopened.
"After you," Zan said again, inviting Strickland to step out. Zan, Rath, and Varec led Strickland to the bridge, and again Zan opened the door by placing his hand briefly over a handprint on the wall. As the door opened, Strickland immediately was treated to a view of the entire area around the base through the huge windows on the bridge. It was breathtaking. A pilot himself, Strickland was used to seeing this view from the air, but he had never seen it before while standing perfectly still in a city that floated in the sky. This somehow gave it a whole new perspective. Strickland turned around to speak to Zan and saw that there were other people in the room, too… not only men… but women… and they didn't look very alien to him.
Liz smiled and held out her hand. "Hi! I'm Liz. I'm Max's… uh…" She cast a quick glance at Nancy, her younger double's mother… "I mean, Zan's wife… and I'm, uh, Elizabeth… She's Liz." She motioned toward the younger Liz.
Strickland smiled back at both of them and noticed that a good number of the others in the room seemed to have doubles as well.
"I'm, uh, David… uh… General David Strickland… at your service, ma'am."
"This is Maria," 'Elizabeth' said, introducing her best friend, and that's… well, that's… Maria, too." Liz cleared her throat nervously. "We're supposed to call her Marisol… just to keep them straight."
Strickland nodded. "Do all your people come in two's? I can imagine that would be a problem… although I can think of some benefits, too."
'Elizabeth' laughed. "No, we don't come in two's. Some of us are from a different dimension. That's why there are two of some of us. I would explain it to you, but we don't totally understand it ourselves."
"So you're from a different planet… and a different dimension?"
"Elizabeth is being modest," Varec interjected. "She knows more about physics and science than anyone else here."
"Oh, yeah! Now who's being modest?" Elizabeth laughed. "I certainly don't know more than you, Varec!"
"Well, in a few more years you may… if I can't find something else to learn before then," Varec said, only half joking… "and if you keep learning at the rate you've been learning and gaining on me."
"It'll be a long time before I ever catch up with you, Varec. I'm not holding my breath."
'Elizabeth' went around the room and introduced each one of the people on the bridge to Strickland.
"You're not an alien," Strickland said with certainty to Gray Hawk. "You're from the Mesaliko Reservation… and so are you," he said to Little Fox and White Feather. He turned to Jeff and Nancy Parker… "Are you, uh, human, too? No… if you're Liz's parents… you'd have to be aliens, wouldn't you?"
Jeff smiled. "Some people may think so, I guess… but we're human. Our daughter is human, too. Her boyfriend is the one who's from some, uh, some other place."
Liz smiled and nodded, adding, "Zan and Max are only part alien. They're part human, too."
"This is a lot to digest all at once," Strickland said softly. "So some of you are part alien, like Zan, some of you are human… including Mesaliko, and some of you are… I presume… completely alien?"
"That would be Varec and Rayylar," 'Elizabeth' said… "and Rahn. Varec is one hundred percent Antarian. So is Tess' husband, Rayylar… and, uh… Rahn." She decided not to elaborate on Rahn's unique difference… the fact that he was a shape-shifter. Strickland had enough to think about already… and he knew enough about them, too… at least for now.
Strickland looked at the three men. He couldn't see much difference between them and the humans or the part humans. Now that he knew for sure that they were aliens, of course, he could see some differences in Varec and Rayylar. They had rather large eyes… but not entirely too large to be human. Strickland thought of The Captain and Tennille, who were popular singers a decade or two back. The Captain's eyes were easily as big as Varec's or Rayylar's… maybe even larger. Varec and Rayylar's skin was a bit light… in a strange sort of way. But that, too, was not definitively non-human. And it had an appealing tone to it, really… It wasn't just anemic or pale. Their accents set them apart, but it could have been from anywhere. Strickland just hadn't been able to place it. No… Strickland realized that these 'aliens' could have passed for humans and lived among us. The part aliens, Max and the others like him, apparently had lived among us… and no one had been the wiser.
"Aren't you afraid… or at least concerned," Strickland said to Max, "that so many people are going to know what you are now?"
Max shrugged. "It wasn't really a choice that we made. Circumstances cast that fate upon us. Our doubles managed to keep their secret pretty well in their dimension, but things went kind of wrong for us in our dimension. Some of us got shot… at our graduation…"
Strickland gasped. "You were part of that graduating class… the one involved in the shooting? But you… How did you…? I heard you were dead! My God!" Strickland exclaimed, suddenly understanding… "Then… that's what that whole shooting was all about! You were shot because of… who you are! They knew! Culpepper… and the others… They knew! I never realized…"
Max sighed. "Like I said, the secret's out now. After we were shot, they took us somewhere on the base and locked us up… on Culpepper's orders, I think. They originally intended to dissect us… Michael, Maria, and Isabel were dead, by human standards, but I healed them. It's something I have a kind of gift for. After we escaped from the base, we hid with… uh… friends… but then all hell broke loose on the reservation, and I had to do some things that made it impossible for us to hide anymore. A lot of people saw things that they shouldn't have seen… things that we had never let anyone see before… On top of that, I think some of it was seen on TV. We didn't plan it that way… It just happened. Now there's no going back… just forward… wherever that takes us."
Strickland nodded understandingly and looked back at the huge front window of the New Granolith just as several F/A-18 Hornets suddenly flew by. The planes made a wide circle and came back for another pass, then the radio that Varec had rigged up suddenly came alive…
"General Strickland, this is Eagle Scout."
Strickland saw one of the pilots raise his thumb and smile as he passed in front of the ship's huge fore window.
"I see you've made new friends, General."
Varec handed Strickland the microphone. The tiny device had no attached wire, so Strickland assumed that it functioned remotely. He held it between his thumb and first finger and spoke into it…
"I believe so, sir."
"There's someone else with me who wishes to say hello to a 'friend,' Eagle Scout said. He pointed with his thumb at a nearby F/A-18. The pilot of that plane smiled, raised one hand, and gave a quick wink as he passed by the front of the ship."
"Who was that," Michael asked.
Diane Casey blushed a bit and smiled. "Dan Klein. That was meant for me, I think. He said he'd be back to help us… He didn't tell me he was a pilot, though."
Suddenly, Dan's voice came over the radio… "We got rid of the planes for you… only had to 'encourage' two of the pilots to return to base. The rest appear to have heeded General Strickland's order… By the way, David… Congratulations on your promotion!"
Strickland smiled. "Thanks. Uh… just how did you 'encourage' them, Dan?"
"I just got behind 'em… told 'em I'd put a sidewinder up their afterburners if they didn't head back to base immediately. They were very reasonable about it."
"No doubt," Strickland replied. "Well, Dan, you're a little late, but I can't say that we don't still need your help." He looked over at Gray Hawk and the other two Mesalikos… "There's someone here who wants to know about the situation on the reservation, I think, Dan."
"Doesn't look good. We did several flyovers, and there isn't one house down there that escaped damage. I'd say ninety percent of them are totally destroyed. Right now, the Reservation is swarming with people, though… and all kinds of vehicles. We've got a team coming in to protect what's left."
"And the Mesalikos?" Strickland asked. "Did many of them survive?"
Gray Hawk stepped forward to answer Strickland's question…
"My people are all safe… thanks to these people… and Kyle… He warned us what was going to happen. Because of that, we were able to escape in time. The Mesaliko people have never asked for anything more than to live… and be free. Everything else is just…" Gray Hawk paused a moment but didn't come up with anything to compare "everything else" to. "We will find somewhere to go now where we can live… and build our homes again."
"Dan…" the voice crackled over the radio… "Eagle Scout here. Tell the Mesaliko people that their homes will be rebuilt… The government will take care of it."
Strickland turned and looked at Gray Hawk… "Is that okay?"
Gray Hawk nodded. "We are grateful. Does it have to be exactly like the old house?"
"No… I guess not. Was there something wrong with the old house," Dan asked.
"It was leaky… the ancestors could see in. I had to use peyote dust sometimes… a lot of it… when I didn't want them to see something…"
Dan chuckled.
There was a brief silence…
"No… it would not have to be like the old house exactly," Eagle Scout said. "It seems only fair that you should be able to repair or rebuild your home any way you like."
"Thank you," Gray Hawk said humbly. "I want a pow-wow room."
Dan chuckled again. "I think you'll get it, Gray Hawk. It's the least we can do after what's happened here. By the way, Eagle Scout wants to know if someone on your ship might be willing to… uh… oversee the restoration of the reservation. He would like to talk with someone about it."
Zan took the microphone device from Strickland… "We'll do anything we can, naturally, but why would he trust us… or even want us to help?"
Dan smiled. "Well, in the time that Diane and I were together on the reservation and she was filming, we saw things, Zan… how your people worked together… your determination… your ability to overcome obstacles that would have defeated others… functioning together in an environment of hostility and danger that would have left most others unable to go on. But you kept going. You persevered. You succeeded. And you were accepted by the Mesaliko people. That means a lot! It is something that is not easily accomplished or to be taken lightly. Eagle Scout… and I… believe that your special, uh, talents and fortitude, and your special relations with the Mesaliko people, are what we need now. Would any one of you… one of the ones you picked up here or someone from your ship… be willing to take the assignment on… for the time it takes to repair the damages?"
"That would be you, Michael," Zan said to Rath. "You were the one who practically single-handedly brought everything back together on Antar after the war with Kivar was over. You had all the linked science labs rebuilt and brought all our scientists back. There couldn't be anyone better to do this job than you."
Michael smiled… then sighed in resignation, but deep inside, he actually wanted this, and he knew it. "Geez, Max, with a recommendation like that… You don't leave me any room to say no. Okay… yeah, I'll do it. I'm a sucker for making things work out when there are handicaps to be overcome. I guess I owe Hank for that… Hank and Mr. Borelli."
"The biology teacher?"
"Yeah."
"Did he help you pass biology?"
"Nah… He failed me… But I survived it." Michael smiled a self-satisfied smile.
Max shook his head and smiled, too. "You'll be a great advocate for the Mesalikos! Nobody else could ever make sure they get everything they should get or that it's done right better than you will."
It seemed that everyone present on the bridge was in agreement, because there were a lot of nodding heads at that moment… then Maria sealed it by giving Michael a kiss, guaranteeing that he wouldn't back out even if he had had backing out in mind… which he didn't.
"Well, you know I'll do my best," Michael said after Maria was finally finished with him.
"You always do, Michael," Maria said softly. "I've never complained."
Zan handed a slightly reddening Rath the microphone…
"Here… Talk to Eagle Scout and Dan about it."
Then he turned to Gray Hawk…
"With Michael on the job, you'll be back in your homes before you know it. For now, welcome to the New Granolith… It can be your home away from home… if you're okay with that.
Gray Hawk nodded. "And what of my people? There are 173 Mesaliko who lived on the Reservation."
Max looked at Michael, and Michael shrugged… "We've got the room…"
Max breathed out a long breath then looked back at Gray Hawk and smiled… "Welcome to the Mesaliko Reservation… the, uh, sky rise subdivision." Then he turned to Liz and Strickland and grinned. "I wonder what the people down there are going to be saying. This is going to really put Roswell on the map. Who'd've guessed… real aliens… in Roswell! And they're us! And we're abducting all the Indians… Real news like this could put the National Enquirer and Globe completely out of business."
tbc
Coming up: Michael gets down to business, and Gray Hawk reveals that he knows a lot more about Angie Lee than he ever told her… or anybody else.