Wings of Steele- The Series, page 188
part #1 of Wings of Steele Series
“Like how long? How far is this... Veloria?” asked Annie Fortuno.
“About three months.”
“Nah shite, that's a long feckin' time to be settin' on yer arse twiddling yer pipe without a nice Sally to feak,” complained the red-haired Irishman. “And I won't be rattlin' some manky tramp with a face like a cats arse... No knobrot for this Mick, I like me plums jus' the way they are.”
Despite her translator not being able to decipher all of the Irishman's colorful slang, Lisa got the general meaning in context, as disturbing as it was. She just wasn't sure how to respond.
“No indifference to your, uh, plums, I can... appreciate your concerns, Mr...”
“Shamus,” he thumbed his chest.
“Mr. Shameless - Shamus,” she corrected herself. Shameless, oh boy. She couldn't help herself, it just popped into her head.
“Ballsbridge, Dublin,” he nodded proudly.
Balls-bridge... Oh God, this just keeps getting worse. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, redirecting the conversation away from the redhead with the handlebar mustache. “We are at an extremely pivotal point in Earth's history. And like almost all significant times in history, it's messy. It's scary. It's dangerous. It's also remarkable and exciting. You have an opportunity to be a part of it or to be a bystander. You stand at the crossroads of one of the most remarkable points in man's time on Earth.” She decided to use a conversation Jack had described with Voorlak. "You can choose to be like a man named, Herman Shimp, or take a leap into history with both feet like, George Washington."
"Who the shite was Herman Shimp for feck's sake?"
It took a conscious effort on Lisa's part not to roll her eyes. “No one knows. A nobody. He stood aside and watched history pass him by...”
“Aye brilliant, Lassie! Ya titsmacked me with that one... Though I s'pose I'd prefer St. Patrick o'r your Washington...”
Oh, God... shut up, shut up, shut up... Lisa took a deep breath and resisted even looking in his direction. “Man and Earth will recover. We will rebuild, better and stronger. We will be more prosperous. And we will join the interstellar community. Medical and technological advances will be staggering...”
“What would we be doing?” asked Nick Omanski, his arms folded across his chest.
“In some cases, you would be the new watchers in your area. Of course, we wouldn't send you back down until some stability has been reached. In your and Bobby's case, you would be our liaisons with the police and local government in Chicago. Not only to determine their needs and supply them the necessary tools required, but to help and guide them...”
Bobby was shaking his head, “No offense. Really... But I'm just a Sergeant and he's a Patrolman,” he indicated Nick, “with two years on the job. You're dreaming if you think they're going to give two shits about what we think or say. No one under a Commander is going to... ”
“You let us worry about that,” she interrupted with a grin. “We can be very convincing.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
BENGALOO SYSTEM - PERSEUS : G'NAROTH SARAT
Jack Steele opened his eyes, a giant black nose filling his sleepy field of vision, “What the...”
“Bengaloo,” rumbled Fritz, staring down at him. “Why you sleep on couch? Bed right over there...”
“I dunno,” mumbled Jack, “I was studying...”
“This not studying,” corrected Fritz.
“I know - I was, I must have fallen asleep.”
“You get up now?” the dog asked, still standing over Jack.
“Have I been paged?”
“No.”
“Are we on fire?”
“No.”
“Then, no. I not get up now,” insisted Jack.
“I'm hungry,” grumbled Fritz.
“Then go to the galley and eat breakfast,” muttered Jack.
Fritz hopped off the sofa to the floor, “OK, fine.”
“Wake me when we get to G'Naroth Sarat,” grunted Jack, rolling over on his side.
■ ■ ■
Squeak - squeak. Squeak - squeak. Squeak - squeak - squeak - squeak - squeak - squeak... “Oh my God, stop it,” scolded Jack, his eyes still closed. “Where did you get a squeaky toy?” he mumbled, still mostly asleep.
“Allie gave to me,” replied Fritz, his mouth full of soft, fuzzy plushiness.
“Or did you take it?”
“She gave,” insisted the Shepherd.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Steele could feel hot breath on his face and opened one eye, a giant black nose filling his field of vision. His other eye opened, revealing a continuation of the picture; a stuffed plush toy resembling a cheeseburger in his mouth. Jack snorted a chuckle.
“You still on couch.”
“Yes.”
“You get up now...”
Steele stretched, “We're at G'Naroth Sarat?”
“Orbit.”
■ ■ ■
G'Naroth Sarat was a marvelous example of terraforming technology even though it was still a work in progress. About half the planet's landmasses were covered in a rich green tapestry of agriculture; the other half, sharp mountain ranges and dry, rolling, arid deserts. The weather control system produced clouds and rain once a day to cool the mean average temperature from the mid-eighty degree range to the mid-seventy degree range, and provide the needed precipitation for efficient crop development.
Not without its urban and industrial districts, the largest city on the planet, Amanpoor, ringed the space port like a bowl; the buildings reaching up like a wall around it. All approaches to the port were from the ocean side, crossing over the rippling blue water to the dull gray landing pads surrounded by emerald green ground cover.
A video inset flickered into existence on the main screen, “Ground control to Perseus, good afternoon,” began the traffic coordinator. “We have you on final approach. Feeding you approach and telemetry control information... now.” An overlay of telemetry data appeared on the big screen with navigation lines, speeds and coordinates. “You are cleared for set-down on pad, zeta-three-seven - indicated on your screen. Please be aware of possible cross traffic.”
“Zeta-three-seven, confirmed,” replied Commander Reegan.
“Current temperature in the Amanpoor area is eighty-six degrees, wind from the west at ten. One hour of rain scheduled this evening at seven, sunset at eight-fifteen. Should make for an interesting sunset...”
“Thank you, ground control.”
The video link with the traffic coordinator winked out. “He looked so real,” remarked Chase standing next to Jack behind the Commander's seat.
“He was,” replied Reegan, watching their descent. “They're not all AI like the one at Nelson's Point...”
“Bit of a Chatty Cathy, though,” remarked Steele.
“A what?” asked Ragnaar.
Steele frowned, “Chatty Cathy - it's a doll from... never mind,” he waved.
The spaceport grew as they approached, the gray concrete oval landing pads of all sizes, surrounded by rich green landscaping that stretched for miles to the edge of the city. Low hangar-like buildings dotted the spaceport, dwarfed by the ships parked on the landing pads. All of it was toy-like, a perfect diorama, the colors so vivid, the wall of skyscrapers silhouetted against a turquoise sky. The flashing navigation lines directed them down to a pad several rows inland from the water.
A target icon flashed on the left of the screen moving right, “Cross traffic left, altitude thirty-four-hundred.”
Ragnaar nodded, “I saw him. He'll pass over us by seven-hundred.” He double-checked their glide slope and rate of decent.
“There have to be almost a hundred landing pads down there,” whispered Chase, his eyes trying to take it all in at once.
“A hundred and seventy square miles of space port,” remarked Commander Reegan. “And I'm counting five FreeRanger ships so far...”
Steel leaned over his shoulder, “Where?”
“Patrol gunships here and here,” Reegan marked them on his command screen, the identifiers appearing on the big screen. “A cutter here,” he pointed, “a destroyer here, and an armed transport over there...”
“Keep looking, see if you can find any more. And see if you can find any history on any of them..”
■ ■ ■
Z-37. The bright yellow numbers painted on the concrete stretched for fifty feet under the hull of the Perseus, nearly unreadable at an angle standing at the base of the ship's ramp. But in case you had a brainfart and forgot where you parked your ship, an illuminated can-sign marked the entrance to the underground metro, and another on the front of the low warehouse building that was nothing more than a sloping entrance to the underground shipping system. Cargo shuttles sat in the always-open doors waiting for tasking. Just beyond the concrete; manicured hedges and tailored ground cover.
Stepping off the ramp, Steele looked up at the graying sky. He knew what time it was, he didn't have to look, “Right on time,” he observed.
“Sir?”
He shot Ragnaar a bemused smirk, “The weathermen at home can't even predict rain for the right day much less down to the minute...”
“Well to be fair, Mr. Mercury, they have the benefit of actual weather control here.”
Steele watched the first few drops splatter on the concrete, “Our Air Force has a program that can make weather, it's called HAARP - High Frequency Active Auroral Research Program.”
“That doesn't sound much like a weather system,” interrupted Ragnaar.
“No it doesn't, does it...” replied Jack. “That's the innocuous public name the government uses hoping not to scare the citizens. HAARP actually stands for, High Altitude Active Rain Production. The problem with it is, they can create the weather... but they can't stop it once they start it. And they can't steer it. They were hoping to create destructive weather as a guidable weapon and in the process of testing created a few rather devastating hurricanes, two of which hit our own country doing extensive damage. Not to mention the hordes of tornado spawns...”
“That is... regrettable. Is it still in use?”
“It was announced a couple years ago that the project was being discontinued. That the antenna arrays and equipment were being dismantled - but that was a lie to appease the conspiracy theorists, who've since developed new ways of detecting HAARP's ELF and VLF radio transmissions.”
“What are we talking about?” asked Chase stepping off the ramp to the landing pad followed by Mercedes Huang.
“Weather control,” offered Ragnaar.
Chase had to decide whether to feign interest or not. Not. “Ah,” he nodded blankly. He held his hand out, rewarded by catching some hefty raindrops, “We'd better get going before it opens up on us...”
“Mmm,” grunted Jack, turning for the underground metro entrance. “You guys got your shopping list?”
“Aye, sir,” confirmed Ragnaar, exchanging glances with Chase.
“I'm still not real clear on what we're doing Mr. Mercury...” inquired Mercedes, trailing the three men.
“Fishing, Ms. Huang. We're going fishing.”
■ ■ ■
Steele wasn't sure what to expect but the tunnels leading to the underground metro were clean, mostly smooth, featureless concrete. Well-lit, lined with digital video screens the thickness of a sheet of paper, bombarding visitors with advertisements and commercials for every conceivable product, attraction, restaurant, club and business in Amanpoor.
Pedestrian traffic came to a sudden halt just before the entrance to the metro station and Steele eyed the other people around them coming from other landing pads headed into the city. “What's going on, Mr. Ragnaar?” he whispered.
“Security checkpoint.” Ragnaar glanced at his shipmates, “Nobody is carrying anything, right? No weapons? Being on the border, they're very strict here.”
“Wait,” whispered Steele, “I thought you could get almost anything here? Small arms included.”
“You can,” replied Ragnaar, moving up in line. “But everything is transferred directly to the ship. No one can take personal delivery of a weapon.”
Steele eyed the armed security team as they neared the checkpoint, “Doesn't seem to apply to them though does it...”
The team leader waved people through the checkpoint, “Keep walking, the train is waiting. That's it, move along...” He occasionally glanced over at the officer watching the scanner screen for any sign that someone might need to be stopped or questioned.
Approaching the open doors of the train, Steele took a deep breath, not realizing he'd been controlling his breathing. He felt naked being unarmed, and this place which had previously seemed shiny and welcoming, suddenly put him ill at ease. His little voice had been silent for a long time... months. But suddenly it felt the need to whisper in his ear. He wondered what it was trying to tell him.
Sitting in front of Jack and Mercedes, Chase and Ragnaar turned sideways so they could converse discreetly over their seat backs. Ragnaar glanced around and lowered his voice, “We'll be getting off before you at the Trade Exchange building, it's an underground stop. You'll be getting off in the city at Central Street Square after the train leaves the tunnels...”
Nearly silent, the magnetic drive of the underground metro propelled it through the tunnel on an antigravity bed across the width of Amanpoor's Space Port, stopping occasionally to pick up more passengers heading into the city from the landing pads.
“You've been here before,” offered Jack, glancing at the people around them.
“I have,” replied Ragnaar, leaning closer. “It's a fairly safe city but don't get complacent. The Black Hole Bar & Grille is an eight block walk from your stop. Walk it - no ground transportation and no shortcuts. It's in your MOBIUS,” he added, tapping on the unit around Jack's wrist. “Don't forget to use it.”
“No ground transportation?”
“It's not worth the hassle or the cost. The cabbies will drive you around the city for an hour for a ten-minute walk...” Steele nodded his understanding. “And for the love of the Gods, don't buy anything from anyone on the street...”
“Got it...”
Chase heard the announcement for the next stop, “That's us...”
“Hey,” said Jack reaching out as Chase and Ragnaar rose from their seats. Chase shot his friend an inquisitive look. “Whatever you do, don't buy any Tribbles,” teased Steele. They shared a knowing chuckle and a brotherly fist bump.
As the train rocked to a swift but gentle stop and the two men shuffled toward the open doors to the platform for the Trade Exchange, Ragnaar nudged Chase Holt's elbow, “What the hellion is a Tribble?”
■ ■ ■
In its day, the G'Naroth Sarat Security Service building was not only a work of art but a technogeek's dreamworld. Like any other government entity anywhere, it had seen better days... but the view was still good. Even though it was less than a third in size among the other buildings surrounding it, it held a prominent spot in the city skyline overlooking Amanpoor's Space Port, its all-black structure striking a somewhat sinister silhouette.
The Sergeant walking past the Inspector's office saw the rain pattering across the windows, the city lights and buildings distorted through the rain-slicked glass. “Damn, raining pretty good... Seems early today...”
The Inspector's attention did not stray from the report on his computer screen, “Uh-hum... Nah, seven-fifteen...”
The Sergeant neither criticized nor commented on the disjointed reply from the man in the windowed office. Perhaps one day, the Inspector would move over to the coveted side of the building that overlooked the Space Port and the ocean beyond it and he could eventually have the windowed office - even if it did overlook the city. “Say Inspector, did Data Bridge get a hold of you? They were looking for you earlier...”
“Yeah, sure...” The words sunk in and Inspector Brooker's attention snapped away from the report he was engrossed in, the dark stubble on his jawline marking a long day. “Wait, what? Who was looking for me?”
“Somebody over at Data Bridge. About an hour ago...”
Brooker ran his hand over the top of his shaved head in exasperation, “Dammit. Did they think of looking for me in my office?” He pushed away from the desk and rose to his feet, his chair rolling back and banging against the wall. “Do I always have to hold their hand?” He brushed past the Sergeant in the doorway, “Thanks Sarge...”
The Sergeant watched him disappear down the corridor, glancing out the twenty-third-story window at the soggy city one more time before heading off to resume his duties.
■ ■ ■
Brooker swung the door wide, strolling into the Data Bridge, lined with rows of security techs monitoring scores of monitors, large and small, recording data from all over the Amanpoor Region. “So who's the freaking genius that couldn't find me hiding so cleverly in my office?” he exclaimed. No response, the deafening roar of silence - broken only by the sounds of the digital video feeds. “Alright, fine. I get it. Nobody wants to admit to being so stinking bad at hide and seek... Does anyone have something for me, or did I just walk all the way over here for my frigging health?” He waved his arms , “So the Sarge just made it up...?”
A woman with short-cropped platinum hair rolled away from her work station waving him over, having called up the video playback. “Inspector...”
“Oh, good, I was beginning to think I was invisible,” he snarked, sauntering over.
