Ancient Birthright (26 page)

Rishly looked uncomfortable for a few seconds before answering, “We’re beyond normal radio contact with mission control. Everything has to be relayed through NRAO, and they don’t have the patch capabilities to tie into your parent’s phones. I’ll check during the next scheduled broadcast time and see if mission control can set something up. Is that okay?”

“I guess it will have to be.”

“Wait a minute. I thought you two insisted on coming on this mission?”

“We did. I didn’t realize it would be a worse prison than the one they had for us in New Mexico. At least there we could talk to our folks and see a friendly face once in a while,” Beldon answered. “With you three holding your secret meetings and excluding us from everything about the mission, what’s happening on Earth and the
Universe Explorer
, nothing’s really changed since Colonel Striker imprisoned us.”

“What do you mean, he ‘imprisoned’ you?”

“Didn’t he tell you the details of this mission and our involvement?” Cindy asked.

“Apparently not.” Rishly frowned.

“Beldon discovered the
Universe Explorer
when he was sixteen. He figured out how to communicate with the people on the ship, and together we taught them English.”

“Who are they?”

“You really haven’t been briefed on this mission.” Beldon’s eyebrows arched toward his hairline. “The
Universe Explorer
is the space ship we are joining with after we reach the Russians. It’s returning from a planet one-hundred and twenty-six-light years from Earth. It’ll be going into orbit around Earth in about two years. All of those encrypted messages we have been getting are from the
UE
. They transmit them to NRAO’s VLA, and they relay them to us. We could probably talk to the
UE
directly, but that would destroy the illusion that our government doesn’t know anything about it, and the resulting investigation would be bad for some highly placed politicians. The President and some of his top advisors and supporters have broken a lot of laws and personal freedoms to cover this up.

“Cindy and I have been held prisoner by the military for the past six months. The Department of Homeland Security attacked us in our home. Cindy was bleeding so badly she lost our first child. It took me months to recover from the concussion and the other injuries they inflicted. The military force at NARO has our parents and siblings imprisoned at the facility, if they haven’t already disposed of them. Their crime...they knew us, and what the DHS team did.” Beldon leaned over, took Cindy’s hand and linked their fingers.

“I’m kind of surprised you haven’t been ordered to dump us into the payload bay without our spacesuits. If we make it back to Earth alive, it’s going to be a major embarrassment to a lot of high ranking people,” Beldon explained.

“Why should I believe any of this?” Rishly asked.

“We could show him the scars from DHS thugs dragging us through the glass,” Cindy said.

Beldon and Cindy unzipped their jump suits, exposing their naked torsos to the waist, the deep scars and puckered ridges giving testimony to the truth of their story.

“We’d just purchased our first home, a beautiful three-bedroom cabin butting up against national forest lands. There is no trace of it left. DHS destroyed it and hauled away all the evidence it ever existed. They say none of this ever happened, and we don’t exist.” Beldon slowly closed his jumpsuit and stopped talking as the hopelessness of the situation overcame him.

“I wonder what Strikers’ orders are regarding the Russian crew?” Cindy asked. “We know they can’t be permitted to return to Earth. That would be as bad as Beldon and I making it back. Now the
UE
is sending a relief ship with medicine and sealant materials, so you’ll have to kill that crew, too.”

Rishly massaged his temples and stared out the windscreen.

“Could you tune in a news program?” Beldon asked. “We haven’t heard anything from Earth for so long I’m beginning to feel like it doesn’t exist.”

“I told you we are out of communications range,” Rishly repeated his initial cover story.

Beldon stared at him until he toggled a switch and typed in a frequency on the radio. The six o’clock news was on. The reports were the same as they had been when they’d lifted off. War in the Middle East, China pulling jobs from America, Japan and Korea. The latest scandal in Washington. Senator Breathsword under investigation for taking bribes and covering up the actions of a rogue team of DHS agents. “Wait, I just received a breaking news report on the status of the rescue attempt by the orbiter
Endeavour
…” Word was beginning to leak of there being more to the rescue than NASA reported.

#

“
Endeavour
, this is Mission Control.”

“Mission Control, Major Rishly, go ahead.”

A new voice spoke. “
Endeavour
your new orders are to go silent on all non-automated radio emissions. Mission telemetry only, no audio or video for the next ten days.
Endeavour
do you copy?”

“What the hell?” Rishly leaned around his couch. “Striker, get up here.”

Striker and Becca were still zipping and straightening when they floated through the hatch. Cindy pushed out of the co-pilot’s chair so Becca could strap down.

“What’s going on?” Striker asked as he jammed his body into a corner.

“Mission Control just ordered us to go silent except for mission telemetry for the next ten days. What do you know that you haven’t told us?”

“What makes you think I’d know anything?”

“Well, maybe the news report we were just listening to that reported Senator Breathsword is under investigation for taking bribes and operating a rogue DHS unit. Or, maybe it was the breaking news story that our rescue mission is more than just a rescue mission. The reporter said we are meeting up with an alien spacecraft.”

Beldon assumed Rishly tossed in the last just to see Striker’s reaction.

“Well, do you have something to tell the mission commander?”

Striker pounded his hand into the back of Beldon’s seat. “Damn, I’d hoped the news media wouldn’t catch on this quickly!” The punch sent Striker backwards hard enough to bounce off the bulkhead.

“Is the rest of it true? Are we on a mission to kill the Russian astronauts and these two?” Rishly asked, indicating Beldon and Cindy.

“I have no such active orders,” Striker said.

Rishly’s lips thinned. His eyes locked on Striker’s face. “Mission Control,
Endeavour
, what the hell is going on? We’re on a rescue mission, and you want us to go silent and not attempt to contact the craft we are rescuing? Do I understand you correctly?”

“
Endeavour
, Mission Control, go to scrambler.”

“Negative Mission Control, tell us in the clear what our orders are, and why you want us to go to radio silence.”

“
Endeavour
, you are ordered to go to scrambler.”

“Come out here and make me. Mission Control, you’re screwing with the lives of my crew and the Russian crew. If this is some kind of political bullshit, tell me now.”

“
Endeavour
, this is Mission Control, Colonel Striker you are ordered to relieve Major Rishly of command of
Endeavour,
and replace him with Major Rebecca Jollye. Complete option B on supercargo and Major Rishly. Colonel Striker, acknowledge this order.”

“Roger Mission Control, this is Colonel Striker, I understand I am to relieve Major Rishly of his command, replace him with Major Jollye then execute Beldon and Cindy Dumas and Major Rishly. Is this correct Mission Control?” Only silence followed this last transmission.

“Mission Control, please respond. This is Colonel Striker. I understand your last order is to relieve Major Rishly and replace him with Major Jollye. Then dispose of the young couple Cindy and Beldon Dumas and Major Rishly. Do my orders to destroy the Russian craft still stand? Mission Control, I need to confirm that last order with the President. Please connect me.”

Finally, “
Endeavour
, this is Mission Control. Cancel all orders issued during the previous transmission. The President is unavailable at this time. He, his wife, and daughters left a few minutes ago on an extended vacation to Martha’s Vineyard. He’ll be out of touch for several weeks. Please resume normal operations and rescue the Russian crew. A terrorist team dressed as DHS agents temporarily commandeered Mission Control. They claimed to be acting on the authority of a U.S. Senator and the President.”

“Roger, Mission Control,” Striker answered.

When Striker put down the microphone, four sets of eyes warily stared at him.

“So you really do have orders to kill us,” Cindy said.

“What can I say? Either I played along with Agent Hooker, or DHS would have replaced me with one of Hooker’s men. I must admit, I was getting worried that Beldon hadn’t gotten the story out on the Internet.”

“So you knew all along that I had posted the entire story?” Beldon asked.

“I didn’t have any way to confirm you’d done it. However, I was hoping. That’s why you’ve been getting all of the messages from the
UE
. I needed you to keep the world updated as to our progress and the help the
Universe Explorer
is giving us and the Russian crew.”

Becca put her hand on Striker’s arm. “Now I understand why you seemed more interested in the computer terminal down in the crew cabin when I was trying to get your attention.”

“Oh, you got my attention.” Striker smiled at her.

Rebecca blushed to the roots of her hair and turned back to the command console, unwilling to look at anyone for several minutes.

Striker rapped the seat frame in front of him. “I think we need to do a very complete search of
Endeavour
. I wouldn’t put it past Hooker and his team to have put a remotely activated explosive device on board, just in case this happened. Cindy, could you help me suit up? I want to take a close look at the fuel module we loaded in the payload bay. That would be the perfect location for a bomb. I would suggest the rest of you begin looking into every accessible nook and cranny in here.” Striker pushed back through the access hatch and floated to the spacesuit storage lockers.

Beldon followed him. “I’ll suit up and help you search the payload bay. There are so many places out there where they could have hidden a small package. You’re going to need all the help you can get to do it in a reasonable time, and I get the feeling that time might be something we don’t have.”

#

With Cindy’s assistance, they cycled through the airlock and began the search. The three remaining inside checked every panel and storage locker.

Beldon called Striker, “I found something. It looks like it’s part of the fuel control system but seems to be added on, not designed as a whole.”

Striker floated to Beldon. “You’re right. It’s just attached to the fuel delivery pipe and not wired to any of the controls. I think it might be designed to detect fuel flow and use that as a trigger.” Striker used a small screwdriver from his suit’s tool kit to pry the cover off the device. They found a sensor pressed against the fuel pipe with its leads going to a small circuit board connected to a battery and a small rectangular block sealed in a heavy plastic casing. A pair of wires penetrated the plastic.

Beldon used a small electronic tester to read the voltage across the lead going to the rectangular block. “I don’t get a voltage reading on the leads.”

Striker looked at Beldon through their helmet visors. “Okay, I’m going to clip them, one at a time.” He carefully placed the cutter over the first wire and clipped.

They were still in one piece.

He clipped the second wire so that Beldon could extract the plastic encased object. They left the sensor attached to the fuel pipe. Whoever mounted it used an extremely strong adhesive, and it couldn’t be removed without destroying the sensor or damaging the pipe.

Beldon found two more out-of-place add-ons, and Striker located one, all of similar design, but with different sensors or connections to valve circuits.

An inch-by-inch examination of the remaining surfaces revealed nothing. Striker was finishing an inspection of the bottom of the fuel tank which was elevated about twenty-four inches above the floor of the payload bay by the aluminum framework. He found a small eight by eight inch access panel glued on with the same adhesive used on the four explosive devices.

“Bel, I found an access panel under here. The same glue used on the other four units is holding it in place. It could be a normal access panel, but I don’t want to take the chance. Look through the big tool kit and see if you can find something to use to cut sheet aluminum.”

Beldon’s search located a battery powered drill and a nibbler attachment for the drill. He grabbed them and handed Striker the drill with a half-inch bit installed. Striker drilled the first hole and handed the drill out to Beldon so that he could attach the nibbler tool before passing it back to Striker.

Striker cut three-quarters of the way around the panel, and then stopped to pry it open. Epoxy fastened the same type circuit board and battery to the inside of the panel, but this time there was no plastic rectangle with leads going to it. This module had two sets of leads going to larger remotely located rectangular blocks, attached directly to the two large storage tanks inside the aluminum housing.

Striker completed the cut and gently pushed the cutout aside as he tried to rip the rectangular blocks loose from the tanks. Levering with a wide screwdriver popped the first one off. The last one he worked from side to side to loosen its mounting material. Striker handed the intact assembly to Beldon.

“Cindy, would you please open the payload bay doors so we can dispose of these explosives,” Beldon said into his suit microphone.

The massive bay doors slowly opened to reveal the total blackness of space broken by only a few pinpricks of light.

Beldon stuffed the rectangular blocks and the last complete assembly into a spare maintenance bag and handed it to Striker. Striker hooked an arm through the fuel tank framework and whipped the bag out through the open bay doors. They watched it sail away for several minutes until its silver reflective surface became a flashing point of dimming light.