Chapter 14: The Demonstration
T-96 days, 12 hours, 52 minutes and 48 seconds (March 8, 12:07 PM EST).
On a low ridge ten miles east of Hartford, CT, three people waited nervously. They would have one chance to demonstrate why they were Earth's only hope against alien conquest.
It was early March, and although it was noon, a cold haze still clung to the lowlands under the ever-present clouds. This had the advantage of obscuring much of the devastation caused by the Danaans, who had moved north only a week earlier. Emerging from the muck from two opposite directions, two black limousines approached. The job of the dignitaries inside was to determine the next emperor of Earth.
"Miss Weir, would you please check the mirror-control system while I double-check the CO2 laser?" asked Nimnul, clearly nervous.
"You're really paranoid about something going wrong, aren't you, Professor?" replied Miss Weir as she tested out a joystick. The joystick was connected to a set of motors, which in turn manipulated a mirror. When nobody was looking, she used the mirror to help her check her makeup, primping her hair a little so it was just right.
"Wouldn't you be?"
Francine walked up and straightened Nimnul's tie, to his annoyance. "I think we'll be alright as long as you don't bring up the whole 'other universe' thing," she told him. "They really don't need to be reminded of that. One more thing to keep in mind: the emperor might be elected by a committee of a hundred scientists and world leaders, but they always rubber-stamp the recommendations of just two bodies: The Company and the World Space Commission."
"The purpose of the World Space Commission seems pretty obvious, but what does 'The Company' do?"
"The Company is the informal name given to the world's foremost anti-criminal organization-the group is so secretive that their true name is unknown."
"Sounds like something out of a Dirk Suave movie."
Their primary antagonist since the end of the Cold War was T.H.E.M.-Thieves, Headhunters, Extortionists and Mercenaries, but that organization was recently shut down, leaving The Company without much to do, and a shrinking budget as the World Space Commission claimed more and more or their funding."
"So the two groups don't get along very well, then?"
"Why else do you think they are coming in two separate cars?"
The first of the two limousines climbed smoothly up the monotonous mountain road, so smoothly in fact that it seemed as if it were standing still and the road was moving backwards in a loop like some old cartoon. The shock absorbers were the only part of the limousine that worked correctly. In fact, the catch on one of the passenger doors was so weak that it would give at the slightest shock. A rental car would have been a safer substitute, but the lack of an official logo on the door would have made it obvious that The Company could not afford the services of a full-time mechanic.
"The Commissioner is up to something with this nomination, I just know it!" So said the Assistant Director in a thick Russian accent. The Assistant Director was an imposing man with dark red hair wearing a pressed black suit. The suit was the semi-official uniform of the semi-official organization known as The Company. The man's code name within that organization was "The Bear".
"The Commissioner is always up to something," replied the woman seated next to the Assistant Director. She was string-bean tall with a cloud of brown hair hovering over her narrow head and a pair of oversize round glasses perched on a small sharp nose. She was the only person in the car not wearing black, instead wearing the standard white lab coat expected of semi-mad scientists. She was known as "The Thinker". A pair of headphones were on her head, the sound turned down so nobody else could hear what she was listening to. Everybody assumed it was Bach or some other ancient composer, but in fact she was listening to Titanium Gander's new album Ham On Kablam.
On the opposite seat, a middle-aged man in a black suit was trying to look back through the smoked glass and the haze at the city they had passed through. His relationship with The Company was rather irregular, and the code name given to him, "The Hero", was not meant as a compliment. "You know, other than the fact that it's abandoned, the place hasn't changed much in the past five years," he said.
"That's sort of an important point to pass over, Dad," declared the young woman at his side. She was wearing a black suit similar in many details to her father's, but with a long skirt instead of pants. Her flaming red hair was easily the brightest thing in the car. She was not actually affiliated with The Company, so she didn't get to have a code name.
"Now remember what I told you, Carolyn," the father addressed her.
"And that would be...?" she asked, batting her eyelashes at him.
"The usual: don't make me look bad, and don't blow anything up. In fact," he mused, "you've actually been doing that."
"Maybe I'm just due for a major eruption, if you catch my drift."
"That's what I'm afraid of," he replied.
The Thinker reviewed the file on Norton Nimnul. "I can't verify any of these credentials," she sighed. "And this whole section about 'alternate universes'-ridiculous!"
The Hero grinned. "You've worked with dodgier scientists before, Doctor Irwin. And I don't think the inventor of the 'Norma Ray' should scoff at any scientists' wild claims."
Doctor Irwin frowned. "The Norma Ray would have worked! I just never found a subject who could follow instructions. When I say 'don't think' during the procedure, I mean it!"
"You could have tried hypnotizing them," Carolyn suggested.
"Impossible!" The Bear exclaimed, "section 14, paragraph 14 of Company regulations clearly state that 'agents must be in a conscious and un-mesmerized state during working hours'."
"Aww!" Doctor Irwin pouted. "You never let me have any fun."
"Speaking of Doctor Irwin's inventions, Agent Maughlarde, have you managed to recover her KEPN helmet yet?"
Agent Maughlarde and Carolyn looked uncomfortably at each other at this question. "Still looking," the agent hemmed, looking at his nails.
The Assistant Director crossed his arms. "I don't even know why you and your daughter are on this mission, considering you have still not recovered it!"
"You mean you're still stuck in Florida?" the scientist asked.
"Yeah, Connecticut was our home turf prior to Florida," said Carolyn, defensively. "But The Philosopher, your boss, specifically asked for our opinion on this matter. He's always turned to my dad whenever he thought you couldn't handle the situation."
Annoyed, The Bear turned and knocked on the black glass partition that separated him from the front of the car. "Driver!" he bellowed, "how much longer?"
The partition opened, revealing Lou in a fancy chauffeur's outfit. "Hold your horses!" he cried. "I'm taking a shortcut! It's just around this corner."
"You're going to let him take a shortcut?" Carolyn laughed. "You'd never let me do that!"
"Carolyn..." Agent Maughlarde began.
Just then, the car rounded a tight corner and ran out of road. The passengers grabbed on to anything they could as the limo plunged down the incline.
"...I agree completely!" he finished.
Francine pointed up the side of the small mountain next to them. "Isn't that one of the cars now?"
"Looks like it," replied Miss Weir.
"They better not damage the equipment."
"Brakes, brakes, brakes!" cried Lou, as he depressed the foot pedal in question.
The car screeched right past the equipment in question, stopping only when it hit the guardrail at the edge of the hill. The impact caused the Assistant Director to strike the door with the faulty catch, spilling out and over the edge.
Without thinking, Carolyn sprang forward and grabbed the hand of the Assistant Director before it was too late, pulling him back into the car. She looked accusingly at her father, as if it was his job in every dangerous situation to save the day. Agent Maughlarde looked away in embarrassment.
The Assistant Director looked over his shoulder at the fall he was almost forced to take. "I...I owe you my life, Miss Maughlarde."
"Oh, think nothing of it. You would have done the same if our positions were reversed."
"Nevertheless, your act has imposed a debt of gratitude upon myself. You may rest assured that I will re-pay it in kind someday."
Carolyn sighed. Men and their chivalry. "Cash will be fine."
The second car, traveling significantly faster than the speed limit, bumped along the country road. Thanks to an excellent set of shock absorbers, the passengers were largely unaware of this, but to the outside observer, the car looked like a model car careening through a miniature set.
"The Assistant Director is up to something with this nomination, I just know it!"
This accusation was made by a tall man in a very official-looking uniform that identified him as Commissioner Simmonds of the World Space Commission. Simmonds and three others, who he regarded as his entourage regardless of what they thought, were the passengers of the second limousine. The driver of this limousine, Bud, was sick to death of hearing Simmonds talk and so was driving far too fast to get to his destination.
"Well certainly, Commissioner Simmonds, it's a plot, that's what it is, a plot!"
This statement was made by a small-looking man named Gorski, but he only looked small because he was cowering before the might of his boss. By title he was Commander of Moonbase Alpha, but considering he had fled to Earth the moment the Danaans had landed, that title didn't mean very much right now, and Simmonds was his only ticket to getting back his once prestigious and perk-filled position.
Another man facing Simmonds sighed to himself in mild disgust. "Can we get to the matter at hand?" he asked.
In appearance, he was a man well into middle age; his wild gray hair receded far from his forehead. Norris Nulton would have known him as the man shaking his hand in the "Moonbase Alpha" photograph from 1984. He was working some calculations on a pad of paper. "David, do you have those figures yet on the power requirements?"
The man addressed was working rapidly at a thick calculator-like device called a "Handy Navi" that was plugged into the car's power port. Despite the fast work with his left hand tapping a stylus on the device, his right hand reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a printout. After handing it over he pulled out a stick of string cheese with the same hand and began nibbling on it nervously. "Preliminary reports say that the new weapons system will need a couple of hundred kilowatts of power to be useful, Professor Bergman," he said in a gentle voice, his accent a mix of Jamaican and British.
Professor Bergman looked over the printout and nodded. "Yes, that was what my calculations were pointing at as well."
"So this meeting is already a waste of time!" declared Simmonds, pounding his fist into the armrest.
"I wouldn't say that," replied Bergman. "I still want to see what this man has to offer."
"You're wasting our time, and you know it, Professor Bergman. Commander Gorski and I have already made our choice."
"You have?"
"Yes. We think that you should be the next emperor of Earth." Simmonds accented the statement by stabbing Bergman in the chest with a finger.
"Me?" the Professor protested. "I haven't the skills..."
"You have my full confidence, Professor," Simmonds declared. "I've seen your work on Moonbase Alpha up close. Surely you know that only on the Moon will this invasion be finally defeated, and who knows the Moon better than yourself?"
David spoke up. "I would not advise that, Commissioner. We should still hear out Nimnul before dismissing him."
"Pfaugh!" (Yes, there are still people in the world who say "pfaugh!"-Simmonds was one of them.) "This Nimnul character is an obvious lunatic. Professor Bergman, on the other hand, is a trusted member of the scientific community, somebody I'd trust to save the human race. You've worked with him for what, fifteen years now, David? Surely you agree that the Professor is the man for the job?"
David hemmed. "Professor Bergman is a master of the defensive sciences. I have no doubt that he could invent a quite good shield to defend us from attack, and that he'd have it ready by September of next year. However, this crisis requires a maverick, someone good at the offensive sciences. And he must be quick. The fate of humanity depends on it." This last bit was said almost too low to catch.
"Very well. We'll watch this little 'demonstration', and we'll see what we'll see." Simmonds gave a significant sideways glance at Gorski, who nodded imperceptibly.
As if he had planned it that way, the limousine stopped at just that moment. Simmonds gestured to Bergman. "After you," he said.
Frowning, Bergman and David exited the limo, followed by Simmonds. Gorski knocked on the driver's partition. "Just need to ask about something I saw on the way," he explained, pulling the door shut.
"Well," said Francine, approaching the three new arrivals, "everyone's finally here!"
"Close enough," Bergman smirked.
"If you would sit down over here, the presentation can begin."
Carolyn rushed to get a seat up front; the others found theirs at a more leisurely pace. Most of the guests tried to avoid looking at each other, so they spent their time reading the brochure Nimnul had left on each chair.
Nimnul returned to the stage, set up his flat display screen and opened the file containing his notes. Then he looked out over his small audience and froze.
Out of the seven people before him, he recognized four. Nimnul's greatest apprehension was reserved for two men in black suits seated next to each other. The larger one appeared to be criminal genius Aldrin Klordane, the only man Nimnul truly feared. The next seat over appeared to be occupied by Donald Drake, the retired police detective and the only man to ever outsmart Klordane. And yet here they were sitting semi-amiably beside one another.
The reason, Nimnul quickly realized, was because these two were not actually Klordane and Drake. Klordane would never dress in anything so plain as what he was wearing. Moreover, his face actually had a healthy shade of pink to it instead of the "gravestone gray" he had acquired as a result of his accidental drowning at the hands of Detective Drake. The difference in the other man was less marked, but the presence of the young woman at his side trying to draw him into conversation certainly seemed different. After all, as Nimnul told himself, if Norris Nulton is so different from myself, why shouldn't these people also differ from their counterparts from my world?
Besides "Klordane" and "Drake", Nimnul also recognized the woman in the lab coat, who was currently swatting at a bee that had become fascinated by her headphones, as someone he used to bump into at his neighborhood supermarket, and the aging male scientist as his world's leading astronomer. Collecting his thoughts, he looked down at his notes and began his presentation.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, this new technological development could not only result in the defeat of the alien invaders, but would also benefit industry tremendously, especially in precision areas."
David raised his hand. "Question: what's the resolution on that device?"
"1024 by 576 pixels, 48 bits per pixel."
David, impressed, wrote that down. "Okay, continue."
Nimnul turned back to the screen. "Laser technology is based on not only an initial stimulation of the material, but maintaining that stimulation via the light emitted. The devices produce beams of monochromatic, coherent light."
The two scientists looked bored. The Assistant Director and the Commissioner were staring daggers into each other. Agent Maughlarde was paging through Nimnul's handout. Only Carolyn seemed to be paying rapt attention, although it seemed that the words meant less to her than the person giving the presentation.
Undeterred, Nimnul continued. "Up here I have two lasers to demonstrate with. The small box contains a low-powered Helium-Neon laser to assist with aiming the much larger, high-powered carbon dioxide laser. As the beams are simply light, a mirror can be used to redirect them. Miss Weir will now demonstrate that with just the visible laser."
Laurel used the joystick on the desk to direct a spot of red light around the thick panel twenty yards distant.
Agent Maughlarde glanced up over the edge of his brochure.
"As you can see," explained Nimnul, "a beam of light, but one that doesn't spread out over a distance anywhere near as much as a normal light source. Now for the part that could help defeat the aliens and improve industry. Miss Weir, cut a hole in that steel!"
"Yes, Taurus Bulba." She shook her head. "I mean, yes, Professor Nimnul."
Miss Weir pulled the trigger on the joystick and guided the beam around again, the invisible beam from the CO2 laser precisely cutting through the steel as it was guided by the mirror. When Miss Weir reached the start again a minute later, a roughly circular piece of steel an inch thick clattered to the concrete floor.
Bergman picked up a pair of binoculars and examined the hole. "Yes, that looks about right." He then stood up. "Professor Nimnul, I wonder if your device has a bit further range than that-say the other side of the mountain over there?"
"This is only a prototype model, and I did have limited resources and time to build it, but it could indeed cut metal at a greater distance than this demonstration. Of course, more power would be needed to compensate for atmospheric scattering of the beam."
Bergman shrugged. "Well, I was curious as to the far range of the device. Could you at least brown the grass from this distance?"
"Yes. Even with the beam spread out a bit by a lens, the infrared beam from the CO2 laser would be powerful enough to dry and ignite the grass."
"Alright, well, if that's all you have...the computer display was a nice touch, though." Bergman got up, and began walking back towards the limousine.
Commissioner Simmonds quickly stood up. "Not so fast, Professor Bergman. Surely Professor Nimnul has something else." Pr. Bergman gave the Commissioner a curious look for this statement, but Simmonds continued on unperturbed. "For example, you've demonstrated the cutting capacity of your laser, but what about its heating properties. Can it melt lead?"
"The metal that was cut through was vaporized. Lower power or a more diffuse beam would easily melt lead."
"Yes, that is the sort of thing I was thinking of. In many cases, these alien ships cannot be defeated by a simple punch through the center-you need to melt the entire outer shell to incapacitate it. Is there any way we can see a demonstration of a wide-area melting effect?"
"Give me a few minutes and I can rig up a simple demonstration with some solder. The shields around the alien ships wouldn't stop a beam of light, anyway."
"Go ahead, Professor. We have all day."
Doctor Irwin meanwhile was making a notation on a clipboard. "Only had one demonstration prepared. Tsk."
"The one I thought you'd be the most interested in, Madame," snapped Nimnul without looking up from where he was adding a lens to the assembly.
Doctor Irwin looked at Professor Bergman and smiled wickedly. "Shall you tell him or shall I?" she asked.
Professor Bergman frowned at her warningly. "Wait for it..."
While Nimnul finished installing the lens, Miss Weir set up a roll of solder and a Coo-Coo Cola can on a small table at the edge of the hill.
"Ready, Professor?" she asked.
"Fire away, Miss Weir."
Suddenly the power to the equipment winked out.
