Destroyer from the Lost Planet, page 11
The mechanic nodded. “Yes, this seems to be very much the same.”
“Do it,” said Gary, rather preemptively. “Take control.”
The engineer pressed a button on the console and the panel lit up with outsized letters. CONTROL: EXTERNAL.
The videoscreen now showed the view from the pilot’s seat. Almost on cue, it began to jitter violently again.
Gary said, “Geez, I can’t imagine the pilot’s disorientation during one of these jitter sessions. Scrambled brains.”
“It’s alright,” said the engineer, pointing to the pilot’s vital signs. “He’s unconscious.”
“You gonna bring ’er in?” asked Gary, noticing a certain reticence on the engineer’s part.
“I have no choice,” he said. “But I’m an engineer,” he said with a crooked smile, “not much of a pilot.”
The engineer flipped on power to a joystick built right into the console and awkwardly placed his hand on it. The pilot’s-eye view on the videoscreen showed the saucer slowly approaching the repair station’s open portal. Gary could see himself, a dot in the engineer’s booth ahead. It was a strange out-of-body experience.
When the craft had reached the halfway mark, the jitter began again.
“Oh, shit,” muttered Gary. “Better stop and wait for the correction.”
The engineer stopped the craft and took his hand off the joystick. Gary glanced over at him and saw that he was sweating profusely.
Gary said, “That jitter goes way beyond your portal’s clearance. You’re gonna have to try again when it dies down. If it jitters on the way in or, worse, after it enters the repair station, there’s gonna be a world-class shitstorm.” He glanced at the walls of the little booth. “Needless to say, we’ll be the first casualties.”
The engineer was near tears. “I can’t let that happen.”
Gary looked at him grimly. “So, what’re you gonna do? Send him to crash in the desert?”
The engineer shook his head. “I can’t do that, either. He’s unconscious; he could kill others. He can’t land at all.”
“So—” Gary stopped himself. He thought he knew where this was going, and didn’t care for it one bit. He put his hands on his hips. “So, what are you gonna do?”
The engineer pointed to a flashing red button that showed a simple line-drawing of a saucer behind the universal red slash symbol, such as one would see on a traffic sign on Earth.
Gary regarded him with horror. “You’re gonna kill a sleeping pilot?”
“It’s protocol,” said the engineer, his eyes red with horror. “I have no choice.” He put his hands over his face. “And this pilot’s one of my closest friends.”
Hendrick saw Gary’s face and body tense up as though he was about to deliver a roundhouse right to the engineer’s face. He placed a restraining hand firmly on Gary’s shoulder. “Can you bring it in, boss?” he asked.
Gary calmed down enough to begin thinking clearly again. He would ordinarily have said or die trying, but rejected that phrase as unhelpful under the circumstances. “I think so. Engineer, can you tell from your computer there how often one of these jitter episodes happens and how long it takes to self-correct?”
The engineer snapped to attention and began typing into his console, having been assigned a purpose only he could fulfill. “The past three episodes—uniformly—took twelve seconds to begin and conclude. Between the end of each jitter session and the commencement of the next has been—fairly uniformly—ninety seconds, although there’s some variability.”
“So,” said Gary, now sweating, “if we move the saucer to a point just outside the portal, wait twelve seconds for an event to commence and subside, and we bring him in immediately, we’ll have about ninety seconds to land him in a repair bay and shut him down. Is that enough time?”
The engineer used his arm to wipe the sweat from his brow. “An average landing takes one-hundred-twenty seconds from entry to touchdown. Oh, but that’s under pilot control—and without duress.”
“What about under external control?” asked Gary.
“We don’t keep statistics for that. There are no standard times for landing a dangerously incapacitated craft in a repair bay—since we never admit them.”
“Well,” said Gary, “this one’s not dangerously incapacitated as long as its episodes are predictable.” He looked at the engineer with a deliberately innocuous expression. “Would you like me to bring him in?”
The engineer hopped out of his seat like it was hot, and said, “Please.”
Gary sat down and put his hand on the joystick. “Can I take it once around outside, just to get a feel for it?”
“I suggest you do,” said the engineer. “Just keep the speed down, just in case we lose control.”
Gary grunted his assent. “This is weird,” he said. “I’m in the pilot seat, but I can see myself in this booth.” He scratched his head. “Well, that should help, actually.”
He turned the craft about and proceeded some distance away from the pyramidion. He gently turned it a few times, accelerating and decelerating.
The engineer interrupted his train of thought. “Don’t wander too far. Traffic lanes begin only a few thousand feet out from the pyramidion.”
“Got it,” mumbled Gary as he turned the craft slowly back toward the pyramidion. The craft moved gracefully toward the portal until Hendrick could see its running lights right outside the portal, where it came to rest.
The saucer sat quietly for a minute or so, then began to list almost imperceptibly to starboard. Instantly, its onboard computer righted it, but overcompensated and it listed to port. Back and forth it went several times before coming to rest just outside the portal.
But then, for the first time, it listed to starboard again and underwent another jitter episode of the same duration. Gary wiped his brow. “Well now, that’s new.” Without hesitation, he added. “Which numbered bay, Eng?”
“Two,” said the engineer. “Watch the scaffolding.”
“Time me on this, Eng. As soon as the jitter calms down, I’m bringin’ her in.”
Under Gary’s control, the saucer slowly entered and began creeping toward the bay with a large numeral 2.
“Counting up. Fifteen seconds. Thirty seconds.”
The saucer made a controlled turn.
“Forty-five seconds.”
Now Hendrick found himself sweating and wanting to cheer Gary on like this was a horse-race.
The saucer moved over a few large items of equipment in Bay 3.
“Sixty seconds,” said the engineer. “Better pick up the pace, lieutenant. It takes fifteen seconds just to lower the craft into position.”
While it wasn’t visible through the videoscreen, Gary could see through the glass that the craft’s wheels were not quite high enough to pass safely over a few beakers sitting atop some sort of console.
“What’s in the beakers, Eng?” he said with that amazingly calm pilot voice. “I’d rather not push the craft up if I can avoid it.”
“Nothing of consequence,” came the reply. “Crash them.”
One of the craft’s tires bumped the beakers off the console, which crashed noiselessly to the floor in the airless lock.
But the craft moved steadily.
Having maneuvered the craft over the vacant bay, Gary said, “Lowering now.”
The craft came down to about five feet off the floor and began slowly listing to starboard.
“Shit!” said Gary and pulled the lever all the way down. The craft dropped the last few feet with no visible damage—and corrected to port. “Kill the power, Eng!” he shouted.
Before he even got the words out, the engineer slammed his palm down on the power switch. The craft wobbled slightly and stopped cold.
That was it. The craft was safely at rest.
“Afraid your buddy’s gonna have a bad headache after that bounce,” observed Gary.
The engineer jumped for joy and grabbed Gary by the hand.
“Thank you, lieutenant!” he said warmly. “Thank you for saving my friend’s life.”
Gary smiled smugly. “Least I could do for a fellow pilot,” he said. He wagged his finger in the engineer’s face. “You gotta enlarge these frickin’ portals, y’hear?”
“I’ll tell my superiors,” said the engineer, who then proceeded to give Hendrick a big hug.
In a half hour, the portals had been closed and air returned to the repair station. The pilot was removed immediately through the craft’s emergency hatch. Though he was unconscious, his vitals were strong, and Gary and the chief engineer got a robust thumbs-up from the emergency technician.
While collapsible scaffolding was wheeled up to the malfunctioning craft, Gary said to the chief engineer, “I’m surprised this doesn’t happen more often, with all the junk orbiting around Earth.”
The engineer regarded him curiously. “What makes you think it doesn’t happen all the time?”
“You mean, it does?”
The mechanic nodded. “We’ve had to do fourteen repairs on saucers colliding with orbital junk since we arrived here.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” replied the engineer. “In fact, some of our mechanics have developed a specialty in this type of repair. A dedicated repair crew will be arriving in a minute.”
As Gary and Hendrick looked on, two mechanics appeared and raised the collapsible scaffolding to the level of the engine repair hatch.
“Come on out to the repair floor,” said the engineer, opening the door and descending the small staircase.
While Gary and the engineer conversed, Hendrick (in full bodyguard mode) saw a door open across the repair bay. Through it emerged a group of three familiar faces. Though it took Hendrick a few moments to recall precisely where he’d seen them before, he knew immediately that someone was missing—someone who’d been with them last time. A woman.
Gary recognized them, too, and broke off his conversation with the engineer. He hailed the leader of the group.
“Hello, Sibzianu!” he shouted. “Where have you been these past two weeks?”
“Vacation!” shouted Sibzianu across the bay. Sibzianu nudged one of his companions and pointed toward Gary and Hendrick. Sibzianu and his companion both waved.
Gary and Hendrick waved back, all smiles.
Sibzianu walked toward Gary and Hendrick with his friends in tow.
As the newcomers approached, Gary said, “You mean, you and your lazy crew haven’t done a lick o’ maintenance since certifyin’ our friends’ antimatter vehicle?”
“Haven’t lifted a finger,” announced Sibzianu proudly, as his two khaki-clad companions, who evidently had no interest in small talk, climbed up the scaffolding to commence repairs.
Hendrick paid no attention to the remaining banter between Gary and Sibzianu, preoccupied as he was watching the other two team members climb the scaffold, especially the android, who so resembled Doctor Zia’s Enkidu.
The android wore a khaki shirt with quarter-length sleeves, precisely what he’d worn the last (and only) time Hendrick saw him. For all Hendrick knew, the android might not even have changed clothes since working on the antimatter craft (what was it dubbed later? The Way Forward?), as his synthetic body probably didn’t secrete anything unpleasant. For androids, as everyone knew, clothes were just props.
That’s when Hendrick caught sight of the streak of black ink and immediately sensed disaster. Four inches high and one wide, the streak ran from the android’s right elbow up to his shirt cuff. There might even have been some ink on the bottom edge of the cuff itself, though Hendrick couldn’t be sure from this distance.
He strained to recall everything about the first appearance of Sibzianu and his crew as they prepared to perform a preflight check on the vehicle that was, even now, transporting David and Catharine to the royal fleet. There’d been Sibzianu, another male mechanic, the android, and a female mechanic. Where is she now? he wondered.
Hendrick gently nudged Gary to get his attention.
Sibzianu, evidently realizing that Gary was being called away, ended the conversation affably. “Let’s have a drink after this job.”
“Good deal,” said Gary and shook Sibzianu’s hand, a human custom that lower-level Anunnaki had readily adopted. Sibzianu followed his crewmembers up the scaffolding.
Gary turned to Hendrick. “’Sup, boss?” he said.
“You remember the last time we saw this crew?” asked Hendrick.
Gary nodded. “There was a woman, too, wasn’t there?”
Hendrick nodded. “Yeah. Where is she?”
Gary shrugged. “I suppose she might have been called to another job.”
“True,” admitted Hendrick, “but that’s not my worry.”
Gary’s forehead furrowed. “You’ve got a worry? Tell me.”
Hendrick proceeded. “You remember how Doctor Zia’s Enkidu droid got all angry when he saw that the mechanics had brought an ‘improved’ version of the same android line?”
“Called himself ‘Hammy,’” said Gary humorously. “Dead ringer.”
“You remember that Hammy made fun of Enkidu because he was going to check for engine leaks using black ink?”
Gary nodded again, warily this time. “Yeah,” he said. “As I recall, Enkidu stormed off and boarded the vehicle first.”
“Right,” said Hendrick. “That guy at the computer looked up Enkidu’s location and told us Enkidu was alone in the engine room.” He paused. “Do you suppose Enkidu would have let Hammy into the engine room?”
Gary shook his head emphatically. “No way. He was in no mood.”
“Okay,” said Hendrick. “Now, be careful not to show any reaction, boss. Just casually look up at the android on the scaffold when he turns away.”
Although Gary regarded Hendrick skeptically, long experience told him to take Hendrick’s intuition seriously. Gary casually knelt to re-tie one of his shoes, then slowly rose and glanced up at the android. Careful to avoid staring too long, he quickly shifted his glance to Hendrick. “Okay, what am I looking for?” he asked.
“You see the black streak on his right arm above the elbow?” asked Hendrick.
Without looking again, Gary nodded. “Saw it,” he said matter-of-factly. Then its significance slowly dawned on him and he turned away from the repair crew. His eyes went wide. “What does it mean?” he asked warily.
Hendrick also turned away from the repair crew. “It could mean a few things. It could mean we’re wrong, and Enkidu allowed Hammy into the engine room while he was checking seals. But we’ve already agreed that’s unlikely.”
“Or,” said Gary, picking up the thought, “it could mean Hammy got a black streak on his arm at some other job.” Gary shook his head and criticized his own observation. “But the team leader just said they haven’t done any jobs since they were here.” He turned to Hendrick. “What explanations does that leave us?”
Hendrick sighed. “The droid up on the platform is Zia’s droid. Enkidu.”
Now Gary was worried. “That would mean that the droid piloting David and Catharine’s craft is Hammy.” His consternation grew. “But what would be the point of switching the two?”
“Not sure,” said Hendrick, “but I can’t think of a reason that isn’t really bad for the home team.”
Gary was quiet for a minute. “But, if the one on the platform is Enkidu, why would he join a conspiracy? Why wouldn’t he act like himself? I mean, he hasn’t so much as acknowledged us.”
Hendrick was quiet for a while. Finally, he shrugged and said uncertainly, “Could they’ve reprogrammed Enkidu … and Hammy, too?” He snapped his fingers quietly. “The guy at the console—what was his name?”
“Kassam, I think,” offered Gary.
“Yeah, that’s it,” replied Hendrick. “Didn’t he say he was a robotics expert?”
Gary nodded apprehensively. “With a minor in artificial intelligence.” He turned to Hendrick. “We’ve got to tell someone about this.”
“Tell whom?” asked Hendrick.
“Well,” said Gary, “we’re duty-bound to tell the admiral first.”
Hendrick frowned. “How do we do that without telling a lot of other people at the same time, such as someone who’s in on the conspiracy? We’d have to send the admiral a message by encrypted radio. But we’ve been ordered to assume that the … locals have broken our encryption. We’re also supposed to assume the walls have ears.”
“Okay,” said Gary, getting a bit frustrated. “Who do you think we should tell?”
“Zia?” proposed Hendrick with a shrug.
“What if he’s in on it, Einstein?” snapped Gary. “Geez, we can’t even tell one of the Anunnaki generals, like Shulgi, can we?”
“We could go straight to Lord Enki,” observed Hendrick.
“Oh? And just how do we make an appointment directly with him?” asked Gary. “Somethin’ tells me if we went up to his chambers, the best we could hope for is bein’ dragged by the ear to the nearest exit, which everybody would learn about—and the bad guys would learn we’re onto them.” He moved his head from side to side equivocally. “On the bright side, the Anunnaki could just shoot us. That would solve the problem … but only for you and me. Besides … approaching Enki would be considered a diplomatic foray. Talk about somethin’ I’ve got no authority or competence to do. Well, there’s another bright spot,” he said with a smile. “Uncle Sam could shoot us.”
Hendrick smirked darkly and shrugged.
Gary said, “We need to tell someone. Gotta figure the odds on somethin’ like this.”
Hendrick perked up, because ‘the odds’ was something Gary usually seemed to have a handle on. “Perhaps a close family member?”
Gary chewed the inside of his cheek and reasoned aloud. “Ever read Shakespeare? Royal families are teemin’ with traitors and usurpers. They’re the ones with the biggest incentives to get rid of the top gun, so they can step right into his shoes.” He relented. “Still, you’ve got a point.” He looked up at Hendrick. “You thinkin’ who I’m thinkin’?”
Hendrick whispered, “Ningishzidda?”
Gary nodded. “Yeah … but, geez, he’s Enki’s eldest surviving son. Heir to everything Enki’s got.”
