Saucer The Conquest

CHAPTER 8

“Billions and billions of stars. Do you ever stop and wonder what’s really out there?” Rip said to Charley Pine. Head to head, they were staring through the canopy at the Milky Way, that huge splash of stars that streaked the heavens, our galaxy.
“Our species will be exploring it until the end of time,” Charley replied. She too felt the magic of the moment. Hurling though space toward an uncertain rendezvous, with life hanging in the balance, still there was time to look at the eternal… and wonder.
“Like Egg, I’ve spent time this winter and spring surfing the saucer’s computer,” Rip said. “But the people who built the saucer stopped making entries 140,000 years ago. What have they learned since then?”
“If they still exist?”
“Oh, they’re out there,” Rip replied thoughtfully. “Someplace out there, amid all those stars, are people just like us. Professor Soldi was right, I suspect—they are our cousins. And they are probably looking our way and wondering about those colonists that went bravely forth into the great unknown a hundred and forty millennia ago.”
“If you look into the abyss long enough, the abyss stares back. Didn’t someone smart say that?”
“Speaking of the abyss, how are we going to go about rescuing Egg when we get to the moon?”
? ? ?

When Jean-Paul Lalouette donned the headband that allowed the saucer’s computer to read and respond to his brainwaves, he felt as if he had walked through a doorway into another world, another dimension. He could see—
Frightened, he ripped off the headband. He was in the pilot’s seat of the saucer, the panel was there… he fingered the controls, reassuring himself with their tangible solidity, the texture and sensuous shape of their surfaces. Yes, this was real.
He looked at the headband, fingered it, then placed it back upon his head.
Oh, now he understood. He was living in two worlds, that of the cockpit and, superimposed over it, that of the computer.
He decided that the first command would be to lift the saucer from the lunar surface where it rested, and he instantly felt a tiny lurch as the ship rose until it was absolutely level, then severed its contact with the moon.
He was up; he could see the change in perspective. Now forward—and the saucer began to move.
Stop!
Aft!
Right!
Left!

Higher—oh, it was magic!
“See how easy it is,” someone said. Chadwick’s voice. Chadwick, one of life’s spectators, one of those who lacked the courage to put his own lips to the silver cup.
Lalouette snapped up the landing gear and let the saucer accelerate away from the base, out across the vast dark lava flow that stretched away to the south and east. It accelerated slowly, no doubt because the lunar gravity was so weak. Yet it was accelerating, faster and faster, until on just the antigravity system alone the saucer was doing about two hundred knots, which appeared to be terminal velocity unless he lit the rockets. He did—and the saucer accelerated abruptly.
After a few moments he tilted the saucer and used the controls to turn and head back for the base, maneuvering freely to get the feel of the machine.
With the rockets off near the lunar surface, he tilted the saucer to sixty degrees and used the antigravity system and a squirt from the ship’s maneuvering jets to turn a sharp corner. The G came hard and, after two weeks away from the earth’s gravitational field, almost blacked him out. He strained against it, fighting to stay conscious.
He straightened out and raced back across the lava flow toward the lunar base, its solar cells marking its position. Behind the base was the first of the ridges. He climbed progressively higher and higher, aiming for the tops of the crags on the highest ridge, which towered fifteen thousand feet above the flat lava bed below.
The ridges were knife edges, sheer and steep, untouched by the forces of erosion in a place without wind or rain, although they did bear the scars of weathering caused by the fierce temperature extremes between sunlight and shadow. The stark sunlight and deep purple, almost black, shadows made the jagged formations seem even more severe. The French pilot worked the saucer up the slopes and ridges, barely clearing the high points, turning first one way, then another, tilting right and left, staying just a few feet over the rock.
He slowed the saucer and brought it to a halt, finally, above the highest peak—stopped it above that apex as if it were mounted on an invisible pedestal.
Now Lalouette took off the headband and looked around. Both Artois and Chadwick were unconscious on the floor. They had succumbed to the G forces. Salmon was conscious, however, strapped into one of the seats. He looked grimly at Lalouette.
Jean-Paul snorted and shook his head, then donned the headband again. He looked up at the earth, which was merely a black spot against the sunlit sky.
Pierre Artois thought he was the emperor of the earth, but oh, how little he knew!
Jean-Paul dumped the saucer’s nose and let it accelerate down the slope. It accelerated slowly, pulled by the weak lunar gravity, as if life were being lived in slow motion.
On the crest of a lower ridge he saw a sharp promontory, a spire of rock that had stood upright since the ridge was made. Even as the thought crossed his mind, the crosshairs of the antimatter weapon appeared on the canopy before him. The saucer turned slightly, pointing precisely at that rock finger, superimposing the crosshairs over it.
Fire!
Flashes from the rock. Shards and dust flew off as antiprotons found protons and the particles obliterated each other in bursts of pure energy.
The spire was obscured in an opaque cloud of rock fragments when he stopped shooting at the last instant and pulled the saucer up just enough to avoid smashing into it. Accelerating downward toward the lava sea, the saucer quickly left the shattered spire behind.
Lalouette’s face wore a terrible grin.
? ? ?

The moon was just above the western horizon the next morning when the sun rose in North America. The weather was magnificent across most of the continent on this autumn day. As the earth spun in the sky over his head, Pierre Artois used his antigravity beam on the White House, then the arch in St. Louis, and finally, the Rose Bowl in Pasadena.
Some California sports fans became positively giddy when the Rose Bowl was reduced to rubble. Perhaps, they thought, the feds could be induced to build a new stadium to replace it, one that might attract an NFL team.
Pierre could have zapped a lot more places—the weather was perfect, the sunlight at a low angle gave the telescopic picture excellent contrast, and Julie was urging him to—but he refrained, preferring to pretend he had been forced to violence by a recalcitrant president who refused to listen to reason.
The president of the United States had problems of a different sort. Millions of Americans watched the White House being reduced to splinters as they ate their breakfast. It was not a pretty sight, and the reaction was immediate. A delegation of infuriated senators and representatives called upon the chief executive at “an undisclosed location” and urged war on France.
“That idiot Artois is the emperor of France, according to the French government, and he is waging war on us,” Senator Blohardt said forcefully. “We must deliver an ultimatum to the frogs—renounce Artois or suffer the consequences.”
“And the consequences would be…?”
“Nuclear war,” said a senator from the Deep South, smacking a fist into his palm.
“No, not that,” a California congressman replied. “Conventional explosives only. Surgical strikes. Radioactivity would poison the water and spread through the food chain.”
“A blockade of all French ports,” another urged. “We’ll shut down their industry.”
“I might support a boycott of French products,” the secretary of state said tentatively. “We might be able to get the UN to go along with a boycott, as long as there was a wine-for-food provision so that the French wouldn’t starve.”
“Hmm,” said the president, and sent the delegation off with the secretary of state to argue the issue.
“So what are we going to do?” PJ O’Reilly asked the president when the legislators had been ushered out.
“Nothing,” said the president, “until we hear from Rip and Charley.”
“The latest polls say the public wants action,” O’Reilly reminded him. He gestured toward the television, which was replaying a video of the destruction of the executive mansion one more time. “You’re sitting on a volcano of outraged voters. You cannot remain passive.”
“If you have any suggestions, trot them out.”
O’Reilly thought hard, but he couldn’t come up with anything. The president couldn’t either, so he went to the gym to work out.
? ? ?

“Why can’t we see the saucer that is coming toward us?” Pierre demanded of Claudine Courbet. He was standing at the telescope controls staring at the computer-enhanced image as he scanned the scope slowly back and forth, trying to find a single tiny dot of light that moved in relation to the background stars.
“You are looking for one grain of sand on a very large beach, monsieur,” Courbet said respectfully.
“If only we had a decent radar!” Pierre declared. A radar unit that they could use to aim the antigravity beam or scan the sky for incoming spaceplanes would have been impossible to justify to the French politicians; Pierre had used all the excess lift capacity he had transporting unmanifested items that he absolutely had to have. Now that he was emperor he could get anything he wanted on a manifest, if only he had a way to get it here.
He gave up on the telescope and glanced over his shoulder at Egg Cantrell, who stood between Henri Salmon and Fry One against a wall. Pierre had had Egg brought here to watch the recalcitrant Americans being zapped in the hope that he would be suitably impressed. A videotaped appeal from a humbled Egg might be useful at some point.

“So, you see how futile is the American resistance, eh?”
“Did the thought ever occur to you that you might have killed people in those buildings you destroyed?”
“Your president has chosen to sacrifice American lives rather than doing the proper, honorable thing, which is to submit. I do what I must in the interest of all mankind. If lives have been lost, it is his responsibility, not mine.”
Pierre was a megalomaniac so far around the bend he was out of sight, Egg concluded. Reasoning with him was a waste of time.
Egg looked through the thick, bulletproof glass, if that was what it was, at the chamber beyond, with the antigravity beam generator in the center and the telescope and capacitor slightly offset, at the scaffolding against the wall, at the plates and hydraulic rams that could seal the chamber from the vacuum of space. The chamber was lit by brilliant sunlight, which was not streaming straight down through the hole in the roof but was coming in at a slight angle. Yet through the opening one could see stars in the dark sky.
A remarkable engineering triumph, Egg thought. Quite remarkable.
As Pierre chattered on about his plans for the people of earth, for the future of the species in the Utopia that he would build, Egg thought about Rip and Charley, who were coming to the moon in Rip’s old saucer… to rescue him.
Finally Pierre tired of Egg’s monosyllabic answers and turned to Claudine. “How is the weather over Japan?”
“Clear enough, I think. The sun will not be up for hours but I believe Tokyo is very well lit. Perhaps we can see it. Clouds will obscure the islands tomorrow.”
Pierre rubbed his hands together. “Then we must discipline them now,” he said, and turned to the control console.
Egg’s thoughts shot down the road Pierre had inadvertently suggested. God rest you, Sigmund Freud. Julie Artois was standing at the console monitoring the reactor’s output and checking computer readouts. She would enjoy wielding the whip, Egg decided. A bit embarrassed at the mental image, he flushed slightly.
So there it was. A megalomaniac and his dominatrix, shattering lives all over the globe because they knew what was best for everyone.
Egg closed his eyes and concentrated fiercely.
Power on!
He let ten seconds slip by, then ordered, Rise from the surface, about fifty feel. Gear up.
He was looking up toward the opening above the antigravity beam, into that brilliant sunbeam, when it momentarily dimmed, then brightened again.
Egg stared at the hole, concentrating hard.
Now he saw it, the leading edge of the saucer. He brought it over the hole, completely blotting out the sunbeam, and lowered it until it was about ten feet above the opening.
The dimming light instantly alerted everyone in the control room. They all stared upward at the stationary saucer suspended above the hole. As Egg’s eyes adjusted to the lower light level, he could see surface dust and debris forming a layer in the repulsion zone halfway between the saucer and the floor of the chamber.
“What?” Pierre exploded. “Is Lalouette flying the saucer? Is he crazy?” He grabbed the microphone on the console and pushed buttons.
“Lalouette?” The name boomed over the public address system. “Where is he?” Pierre demanded in French. “If Lalouette is in the base, send him to the power chamber immediately.”
Julie Artois stepped in front of Egg. Her eyes glittered as they stared into his. “You did this!” she said bitterly. “You foul little man.” She slapped him as hard as she could swing. Egg staggered from the blow, caught himself and put everything he had into a return slap. Henri Salmon blocked Egg’s arm; then he and Fry One pinned the American.
“What is this?” Pierre shouted at Julie. “Why hit him? Someone is in the saucer!”
“Who?” she demanded.
? ? ?

It took ten minutes to account for everyone at the lunar base. Lalouette and Newton Chadwick rushed into the chamber while the count was being conducted. Chadwick and Julie huddled in one corner while the French pilot conferred with Artois.
The two men holding Egg didn’t relax their grip, even though he wasn’t struggling. Egg tried to keep a poker face. He should have refused to fly the saucer for Chadwick, should have crashed it into the moon, should have had more courage…
He was still berating himself when he heard Chadwick say, “Brainwaves are tiny electrical charges generated by the synapses in our brains. The saucer’s computers read them through the tiny wires embedded in the headband that the pilot wears. Cantrell must have programmed the saucer’s computer to perform certain maneuvers at designated times.”
Julie whirled toward Egg. “That’s it, isn’t it? The saucer is under your control.”
Egg nodded his head. They were all staring at him now, everyone in the control chamber. “You aren’t going to zap anybody with the saucer parked over your hole. If you people lay a finger on me, I’m going to fly the saucer into the sun.”
Pierre was the first to recover his composure. He was definitely emperor material. “You’re bluffing. You’d be committing suicide.”
Egg shrugged. “It’ll be your funeral too, Artois. We’ll sit around talking about old times and what might have been while we starve to death.”
He jerked his arms free of the two thugs, then said, “I’m going to get something to eat.” Everyone stood speechless as he carefully hopped toward the air lock. The Roswell saucer remained in position ten feet above the top of the chamber, so steady it seemed to be welded there.
? ? ?

The brain trust, Pierre, Julie, Chadwick, Salmon and Lalouette, huddled near the control console. Every now and then one of them glanced through the glass at the belly of the saucer.
“We can’t just climb up on a ladder and open the hatch,” Chadwick said. “The saucer is resting on an antigravity field, and anyone trying that would be crushed.”
“If Cantrell fires the saucer’s rockets, we’re all dead,” Pierre reminded them, quite unnecessarily. He was stunned by their proximity to the edge of the abyss. An entire fleet of spaceplanes was gone, either destroyed or beyond reach, and the only transport he and his followers had to get back to earth was an artifact stolen from the U.S. Air Force, an artifact of unknown age and condition, controlled somehow by a fat twisted genius they had had to kidnap. Mon Dieu! If that weren’t enough to freeze one’s blood, there was another saucer equipped with an antimatter weapon on its way here to destroy his saucer. Pierre put his hands to the sides of his head and pressed. There must be a way out of this maze. There must be!
Julie used a broadsword on Chadwick. “You had a computer from a saucer for over fifty years. Cantrell had one for a year and knows more about the ship than you do. I must say, I am not impressed, Chadwick.”
“He and I have different interests,” Chadwick answered, his anger showing. “Do you want my help or don’t you?”
“You jump right in if you want to stay alive.”
“It beggars belief that he programmed the saucer to fly to this cavern and park itself above the opening, blocking the antigravity beam. When we were on our way to the moon he didn’t know the precise location of the lunar base, didn’t know where the cavern was, didn’t know where the saucer would be parked, didn’t know the elevation difference between the parking area and the top of the opening, and he didn’t know the bearing or distance from one to the other.”

“Quite true,” Pierre admitted.
“Go on,” Julie prompted.
Newton Chadwick threw up his hands. At times the myopic stupidity of these people was truly amazing, and they intended to rule the world. “So if he didn’t program the maneuvers into the computer on the way to the moon—and he didn’t know enough to do so—then it follows that he is flying the saucer himself. Now. He is telling it what to do, even as we speak.”
“But he wasn’t in the saucer!” Julie exclaimed. “He was standing against that wall. He isn’t in it now!”
“You are very quick, madam,” Chadwick said. “That is precisely the point.”
“So how do we get Cantrell to return the saucer to us?”
That was the question. They discussed it from every angle. He would never willingly turn over control of the saucer. If they killed him it would still be hovering where it was until the reactor malfunctioned or the core decayed, whichever happened first, and since the hatch was on the belly of the thing, in the midst of the antigravity field, the saucer might as well be back on earth—they would never get inside.
“Unless…” Newton Chadwick said thoughtfully. He turned his gaze upward, at the belly of the saucer hovering over the antigravity beam generator. He concentrated fiercely and asked the saucer to move. Sideways a few feet. Please.
Nothing happened.
So as long as Egg had control, the saucer would obey no one else. That seemed a reasonable conclusion, and Chadwick examined it in detail. He could see no logical flaw.
Chadwick explained to the knot of people around him. As he did, Henri Salmon thoughtfully rubbed his left armpit.
Pierre was dubious. “What if you’re wrong?”
“What other explanation could there be? Give me one.”
“I am not a genius like you or Cantrell,” Pierre said without apology. “Yet in my opinion, we had better not do anything irrevocable until we’re absolutely certain you’re correct.” He put his hand on Salmon’s arm and said to him, “Cantrell is not to be harmed.”
? ? ?

While the brain trust examined their options, Egg sat sampling food in the cafeteria. The food was amazingly good, he thought. The French could be relied upon to eat well under any circumstances.
He thought about Rip and Charley, he thought about the saucer and its astounding treasure trove of information, and he thought about what he would do when he got home. He did not think about what the Artois gang might do now that he had scarfed their flying saucer. He refused to think about it. Anything but that.
The other people in the cafeteria were whispering among themselves and glancing at him from time to time. The news about the saucer he had parked over the antigravity beam generator must be spreading like wildfire, he thought. He lowered his gaze to the food on his tray. It was all very good, but he had no appetite.
Egg figured that sooner or later they would realize he was controlling the saucer, but he didn’t think they would figure out how. He hoped not, anyway.
Lalouette, the French spaceplane pilot, came through the door and walked over to Egg’s table. “Would you please come with me, Monsieur Cantrell?”
Egg shrugged. Might as well. He stood and followed.
There were five of them waiting in the com center. Pierre gestured to an empty chair that faced him. “Monsieur Cantrell, please. Let us discuss this matter like gentlemen.”
Egg hesitated. Julie was there, Claudine Courbet, Chadwick and Salmon. Chadwick was propped against a wall with his arms folded across his chest. He met Egg’s eyes.
Egg turned his gaze to Artois. “Have you told these people who is going to be left behind when you and Julie take the saucer back to earth?”
“That’s not your concern,” Pierre said smoothly.
“I’ll bet they are wondering, since the saucer is not large enough to hold more than ten people. And if the saucer leaves, one doubts that it will ever return.”
“Sit down, sir.”
“I suspect you’ll negotiate some sort of immunity for yourself in return for abandoning your attempted conquest. I’m sure you’ll do quite well with a book or two and a movie about your adventure.”
“You’re quite the cynic—” Pierre began. He stopped abruptly when Henri Salmon grabbed Egg from behind.
Julie also leaped at Egg, and he felt a sharp pain in his arm. He looked down, saw the syringe—and felt himself falling as everything went black.
? ? ?

Jean-Paul Lalouette donned his space suit and exited the lunar base. Standing in the parking area where he could see the saucer, he ordered it to return to its parking place in front of the main air lock. As he thought about it, the saucer responded.
Soon he had it sitting on its landing gear in the spot where Egg had left it a few days before.
Lalouette looked up at the stars. They were clear and seemed very close. It was an optical illusion, he knew. The only thing close was death, and it was just inches away, waiting…
When he had the saucer shut down, he turned and walked back into the air lock.