Saucer: Savage Planet (13 page)

“What do you think of the Viking ship?” Rip asked softly, so only Egg could hear.

“It’s real, all right.” Egg sighed. “Every museum on the planet would love to have it. The wood has deteriorated, but still … Rip, it’s as if they pulled it up on the beach, climbed down and walked away, intending to come back, but they never did. Or when they returned a slab had fallen from the rock roof, or perhaps the whole mountain had shifted and they couldn’t get their ship out of what had become a cave.”

Egg warmed his hands at the fire and finally began inspecting the interior of the cave, what he could see. The only illumination was from the fire, so it was difficult. The ceiling appeared to be about eighty feet high.

“Smoke is rising nicely,” Rip observed. “There might be a hole or crack in the roof.”

Using the flashlight, Egg inspected the rear wall of the cave. He found a Celtic rune hacked into the stone. He cast the beam around to see what else might be there, then studied the rune by flashlight.

Solo joined him. “I buried a man here,” he said. “Scurvy, starvation, and a respiratory infection. He didn’t last long.”

“To die here in this wilderness…” Egg looked around again with the flashlight’s beam.

“We all have to die someplace, sometime,” Solo said curtly. “He died among friends, and this is as good a place as any.”

“How would you know? You’re the man who doesn’t die.”

“Oh no, Egg Cantrell. You have that wrong. I am just a man who is living a little longer. But my time will come. Rest assured of that.”

The night could have been worse, Charley Pine reflected. The fire burned well, fed by dry wood that burned quickly, the cave was reasonably warm, and the sleeping bags were comfy. Before she drifted off, she checked her companions, who were all snuggled up in their bags. Uncle Egg snored softly.

On the far wall of the cave, in the dim reflected firelight, beyond the dark, ovoid shape of the saucer sitting on its landing gear, she could just see the outline of the Viking ship.

She was studying its shadow on the cave wall when she drifted off to sleep.

*   *   *

Petty Officer Hennessey wasn’t the only person on the planet to connect two orbiting saucers with the possible arrival of a mother ship. People tweeted about the possibility; then it went viral on Facebook and the other social networking sites. Within minutes, the possibility became a certainty and everyone everywhere knew everything about it and was absolutely sure. After all, we’re wired up now.

The world’s population was a bit nervous. As the minutes ticked by, they became more nervous. Visions of alien space fighters zapping everything, ten-foot-tall green predators with spiderlike mandibles catching and gobbling folks, starvation, anarchy, chaos and civilization in ashes flashed through the collective mind. The possibilities went from the triple-digit cable channels to the network news shows and the world’s front pages as fast as fingers could type, which was almost at the speed of light.

The networks’ babes and commentators talked about these sci-fi fantasy possibilities with straight faces. The reaction of the viewing public was predictable: Teenagers the world over began screwing like rabbits, unhappy spouses abandoned their families, people maxed out their credit cards in restaurants and jewelry stores, and survivalists took to the hills to fort up.

A tidal wave of people headed for Las Vegas, which for the first time in the history of the world had to declare itself full—closed to new visitors. Police turned away all traffic into town, and the FAA would allow only empty airplanes to land at McCarran. The casinos were packed wall to wall; strippers wriggled and writhed around the clock; hookers doubled, then tripled, and finally quadrupled their prices. Every woman in town with fake tits ordered a new car; Corvettes and Porsches seemed to be the most popular.

In cities and towns across America some people even went to church. Collection plates filled to overflowing as thousands of preachers dusted off their best sermon on “Where Will You Spend Eternity?,” mounted their pulpits and spurred the choirs.

Inevitably the politicians wanted their constituents to see them molding and shaping events. Hordes of them descended on the White House, where the president was forced to admit them in waves of fifty each.

From Congress and statehouses and city halls all over America, the politicos demanded action. They wanted the government to protect everyone, to negotiate with the alien space monsters and remind them of the glories of diversity, and if that failed, to send them all straight to hell. Or to somewhere politically correct, if by chance the monsters didn’t believe in hell. A few pacifists and left-wing dingbats counseled nonviolence and turning the other cheek, but they were howled down or ignored.

“Find that saucer!” the president told P. J. O’Reilly every time he saw him. “Space Command said it came down in Canada, which is a very large place.”

“It might not even be in Canada,” O’Reilly protested. “Just because it came down headed for Canada doesn’t mean—”

“Find it.”

“Mr. President, that saucer could be anywhere. It might even be on the bottom of Lake Mead. Solo and the Cantrells might be partying in Vegas.”

“Find it!”

Being human, the president wondered how it would go down if aliens arrived to fight or parley. He had sweated all that during the first saucer crisis just over a year ago. The memory of those days gave him the shivers. He recalled that his political adviser then had told him to look presidential and not to give away the country or pee his pants. Sound advice that, he reflected.

Pulling off those three feats was going to be a real trick, however.

He glanced at his watch. He had five minutes before the next herd of politicians was due to storm the East Room. He asked the honor guard aide to send for Petty Officer Hennessey. They met in the hall outside the East Room. Through the closed door, the president could hear the herd shuffling in.

“These aliens,” the president began. “If they show up … Got any thoughts on that?”

“They’ll want something,” Hennessey said. “Wouldn’t have bothered to come all the way from wherever to here if they didn’t.”

The president nodded. Sure. He saw that.

“They’ll want to talk to the head dude. That’ll be you. You just gotta take charge, get what you want in return for what they want.”

“So what do I want?” the president asked aloud, staring at the wall.

“I dunno, sir,” the petty officer said. “Maybe them Fountain of Youth pills, which don’t sound too smart to me, or a cure for cancer. Give something, get something.”

“Yes. Yes.” The president straightened his shoulders and adjusted his tie. He could handle negotiations.

Hennessey thought so too. “You’re our guy, sir,” he said and saluted.

The Secret Service agent opened the door to the East Room, and the president strode in.

*   *   *

The president was taking a makeup and potty break between delegations when O’Reilly came rushing in with a message. He handed the sheet of paper to the president while he told him what it said. “The NRO has tracked the saucer. It’s in Manitoba.”

The president shooed out the makeup artist, a cute twenty-something female with a theater degree from a little college in New England. She was doing this gig powdering the presidential nose until something on or off Broadway opened up. The president watched her hips as she walked out.

“Manitoba, like in Canada?”

“Yes, sir,” said P. J. O’Reilly. “Near Hudson’s Bay. Or in Hudson’s Bay.”

“You know I don’t know all those damn initial agencies.”

“The National Reconnaissance Office. The spy satellite people.”

The president folded the paper into a little square and handed it back to O’Reilly. “Well, who are you going to send after them?”

“There’s this little problem, Mr. President, and State is working it. Canada is a foreign country, so we can’t just send a squad of U.S. Marshals or Marines up there to arrest them without the Canadian government’s permission.”

“Get it. Bet the people in the saucer didn’t go through customs or immigration.”

“Yes, sir, but there is a complication.” O’Reilly enjoyed telling the president about complications, so he perked up now. “Canadian sovereignty is at stake, according to their ambassador, and they are being sticky. State is drafting a formal request.”

The president stared at his shoes, then into the mirror at his powdered nose and forehead, which didn’t shine anymore, and at his balding pate. Finally he said, “O’Reilly, you are a good chief of staff because you are a first-class son of a bitch.”

He speared O’Reilly with his eyes and continued, “Still, there are a lot of sons of bitches out there, and if you want to keep this job you had better prove to me that you are the meanest and toughest of the bunch. Light a fire under that ambassador. Light a fire under ours. I don’t care if you burn their balls off.
I want that saucer.
I want Adam Solo and Egg Cantrell. I want that youth serum or pill or suppository. And, by God, I want them
now
!”

*   *   *

The new day came slowly at the cave on the bay. An ice fog obscured the ocean and surrounding land and filtered the daylight. It also penetrated the cave, despite the fire that kept the temperature just above freezing. The four travelers sat huddled around the fire eating from the bag of grub Rip had packed and washing the food down with bottled water.

“It’s going to be difficult to stretch our supplies for a week,” Egg said, frowning at his ham sandwich. “When your ride arrives, where will they meet you?”

Solo shrugged. “Anywhere I ask them to. In orbit would probably be best.”

“Another week,” Rip mused. “I suppose we could stay here that long, unless someone finds us. The bay is full of fish.”

Solo laughed. “I once spent a winter here. There were caribou in the forest and fish in the bay. With your rifle, we are well equipped to hunt caribou, and we can chip holes in the ice to fish.”

“Heck. This little penknife is the only blade we have,” Rip said sourly, holding up his. “Won’t cut much firewood or skin many caribou with this.”

“We’re also a little short of coffee and soap and a way to wash clothes,” Charley added.

Solo looked amused. “I would bet there are at least a half-dozen knives within ten feet of where you are sitting.”

“Show me one.”

Adam Solo began scraping at the loose dirt near his feet with one boot. When it seemed soft enough, he began digging with his hands. In a moment he pulled up a shard of a flint blade. He laid it aside and kept digging. Pieces of flint, a broken arrowhead and an intact arrowhead were revealed as the hole got wider and deeper.

After another minute he said, “Aha,” and pulled a flint blade from the dirt. It was perhaps three inches long, and both sides were edged. There was no handle.

“A knife.”

Rip inspected the blade, turned it over repeatedly in his hands and held it so the fire illuminated it. Solo rose and walked to the Viking ship. In a moment he was back with a sword. It was short, broad and covered with rust. “I can scrape this rust off, and we can sharpen this on a stone. It’ll cut wood and butcher game and, if need be, cut people.”

Adam Solo slashed the air with it. The weapon seemed to fit his hand, Charley noted with a start.

Solo gave the sword to Rip, butt first. “Now, if you will loan me your rifle?”

Rip passed it to him. “It’s loaded.”

Solo inspected it as carefully as Rip had the flint blade. “Twenty-five thirty-five. Obsolete caliber.” He flashed Rip a grin. “But adequate.” He stood and adjusted his coat. “I’ll go see what I can find.”

Adam Solo walked around the fire and headed for the opening in the rocks.

Charley Pine said, “A week in a freezing cave hideout! Robbers Roost. And they say civilization is moving right along.”

“Didn’t you ever go to Scout camp?” Rip teased.

Charley didn’t look amused. She said to Egg, “How long before the U.S. government finds us?”

“Two or three days. The heat of the fire leaking from this cave will show on infrared sensors.”

“Uncle Egg, we need a plan.” Charley wasn’t smiling. “After Solo gets rescued by his buddies and flies off into infinity, we are going to be stuck here with six billion people who think we have the formula for eternal life and won’t give it to them.”

“The formula is in the saucer’s computer,” Egg admitted, “and you are right. I
won’t
give it to them.”

“Six billion crazy people,” Charley said. “You are going to have to give them the formula or we are going to have to get the hell off this rock while the getting is good.”

“Go with Solo, you mean.”

“Uncle Egg, you can’t resist a tidal wave.”

Egg added another dead limb to the fire. They sat staring into the fire, thinking their own thoughts.

Rip broke the silence. “Who wants to go fishing?”

“I’m saving fishing for my old age,” Egg replied. “So I’ll have something to look forward to.”

“I caught my fish at Scout camp,” Charley said dryly. “That was enough.”

“No sense of adventure,” Rip grumped. He put his fishing pole together, checked the reel and line and hook, then made a little ball of bread and impaled it on the hook.

He walked to the edge of the water lapping at the dirt and cast the hook and bread in.

“You can’t catch a fish in here,” Charley objected. “You’ll have to go outside.”

The words were no more out of her mouth than something big hit the hook and the line bent and started ripping off the reel. Rip laughed and played the fish.

Charley Pine was watching Rip fight the fish and didn’t see Uncle Egg enter the saucer and close the hatch.

*   *   *

Adam Solo walked north along the shore of the bay. To his right the escarpment that held the cave was gradually getting lower, becoming first a hill, then just a swell in the land, then petering out altogether.

The shoreline curved around to the east. Solo paralleled it, walking through low birches and scrub covered by several inches of snow. The air was below freezing. A light snow, almost a visible mist, was sifting down on the westerly breeze. Visibility in this gray world was no more than two hundred yards.