“Yes, sir.”
#
Peace Enforcer Sergeant Jacob Liu Chen lay in someone’s flowerbed and used his combat goggles to scan the subject house. It was a clapboard frame, two-story affair that must have been easily three hundred years old. This was one of those Cambridge neighborhoods where the owners were either fifth generation, or else snobbish newcomers paying for the ambience. The lawns were well groomed, with a lot of shrubbery and flowers in evidence. Chen liked that. It gave him and his men something to work with.
The Heinz house was flanked on both sides by two others, with a narrow passageway on each side. There was a large, fenced backyard. The fence was constructed of 12-centimeter-wide planks nailed to a pair of horizontal beams and about 2 meters tall. It had once been painted white, but was in need of a touchup. He suspected Heinz had received more than one visit from the local neighborhood association.
In his goggles, he could see two of his troopers crouching in the shadows next to the backyard fence, one on each side of the house.
“Zwicky?” he whispered into his headset microphone.
“Yeah, Sarge?” came the whispered response.
“Any sign of a dog?”
“No dog.”
“All right. You and Spears are cleared for entry into the back yard.”
No sooner had the order been given than both figures moved forward and over the fence.
“Sniffer Team One, advance to Point Able!”
Two troopers carrying one of the sniffers advanced to the right front corner of the house. They crouched in the bushes and began the careful job of drilling a small hole in the clapboard. House plans on file with the city indicated that the kitchen was inside where they were drilling, and the drill would break through inside a kitchen cabinet, where it would be unobserved — assuming the plans on file were correct. Even if they were not, the hollow drill they were using was small enough that it would probably not be observed by the inhabitants.
“Sniffer Team Two, advance to Point Baker!”
The second team moved to the opposite side of the house and began drilling through the red bricks that formed the walls of the basement and the foundation for the frame building above. The tiny drill bit was quietly chewing through the mortar between bricks. The basement windows had been painted white, but the one nearest the second sniffer team showed the lights off in what plans called the laundry room.
There followed five minutes in which the only sound was the chirping of crickets. A boom microphone team reported muffled voices inside the house, possibly in the basement, and a single occupant in the upper part of the house. They could hear the latter moving around the kitchen. Whoever was in the basement, their conversation was too muffled to pick out individual words.
“We’re through,” Sniffer Team One reported. “All we can smell are various cleaning solutions and soaps. Apparently, we’re in the cabinet beneath the sink where they store such things. It’s overpowering our sensor.”
“Okay, pull back and go to your secondary target.”
“Moving now,” the whispered response came.
“Team Two?”
“We’re through the bricks. Stand by.”
There followed another long period of silence. Then the leader of Sniffer Team Two reported in an excited whisper.
“We have a positive hit, Sarge! Definite match with the alien’s body chemicals.”
“All team members, move in. Entry Plan Delta. Get into position and prepare for my order. Move!”
#
“So we figure that we can give you three weeks of oxygen in the shipping crate with this regenerator, but it is going to be cramped,” Ludnick told Sar-Say as he sketched out the modifications they were making to smuggle him into space once the blockade ended.
“What about waste disposal?”
“You’ll have to use bags. It is going to get stinky in there, I’m afraid.”
“That is not a problem,” Sar-Say replied. “Our olfactory senses are different from those of you humans. We do not have the same distaste for some odors that you do. How airtight are these cases?”
“Very,” Ludnick replied. “This particular model is used to ship items that would be ruined by exposure to vacuum. The manufacturer guarantees it to be leak proof, or your money back.”
“That will not do me any good if it leaks,” Sar-Say replied.
“True,” Ludnick replied. “Sort of like a guarantee from a parachute packer.”
The reference escaped Sar-Say. He decided to ignore it. “What about an interior release mechanism for the crate seal? I do not like the idea of being locked in a box with no means of escape, especially if my air is running low.”
“We can put one in, but you will have to be careful about using it. The crate will be in vacuum for a long period once in orbit. They only pressurize the cargo holds after they’ve finished loading. Pop the release at the wrong time, and you will be breathing vacuum.”
“A pressure sensor will eliminate that possibility. We can conceal the sensor inside one of the side braces where it won’t be seen.”
They had been going over the plans for twenty minutes, with Sar-Say making changes and Ludnick writing them down on the back of an envelope he had pulled from his pocket. The sketches of the cargo container were laid out on a low table. The scene might have been that of two graduate students working together on their thesis.
They were interrupted as Gus Heinz arrived with refreshments… beers for him and Ludnick, orange juice for Sar-Say. He was just pouring the orange juice out of a refrigerated bulb when a loud crash echoed through the house.
“What the hell…!” Ludnick exclaimed, looking up where dust was slowly drifting down from the basement rafters.
There was the clatter of many feet overhead, the crash of doors being kicked in, and before any of the three could react, the sound of heavy boots on stairs.
The next thing they saw were two big Peace Enforcer troopers as they burst into the basement with their needle rifles at the ready.
“Freeze!” came the order. Both Heinz and Ludnick turned to face the soldiers, then with nearly identical curses, raised their hands over their heads. Sar-Say just stood there, looking from one trooper to the other, dismay apparent in his posture to anyone familiar with Broan body language. All of his plans had turned out for naught, again!
“We’ve got him!” one of the troopers said into his intercom. His call caused numerous other soldiers to come stomping down the stairs. Within seconds, both men and Sar-Say had their arms restrained behind them in handcuffs.
A sergeant looked the three of them over and said, “Call the General. Tell him everything is secure. We’ve captured the alien!”
#
Chapter Twenty Two
The meeting was held in the big conference room one level down from the World Coordinator’s office in Government Tower in Toronto. It was a week since Sar-Say’s capture and three days since he had been returned to PoleStar. He would never again be allowed on Earth.
The interrogations of both Gus Heinz and Benjamin Ludnick had been swift and effective. When informed as to the maximum penalty for their crime, they told investigators everything they wanted to know. In the case of Heinz, it was difficult to shut him up.
Both men said that they had been seduced by the size of the bribe Sar-Say offered, as well as his claim that the Broa would eventually find Earth with or without their help. The investigators’ official report pointed out that Sar-Say could have offered a great deal more – the entire planet, if necessary. Sar-Say’s ability to offer huge rewards, they argued, put him in a different class than other prisoners, a much more dangerous class.
To ensure that he did not escape again, an entire platoon of Peace Enforcers were assigned to guard him. Individual P.E.s would operate only in pairs, and would be rotated periodically to other duties to ensure they didn’t also fall victim to the blandishments that had snared Heinz and Ludnick.
When Mark heard of the arrangement, he was put in mind of an old saying: Q
uis custodiet ipsos custodes?—Who will guard the guardians?
It was a problem as ancient as its Latin roots.
Those invited to the emergency meeting included the three institute directors, their personal staffs, several members of the coordinator’s staff, and members of parliament. Mark Rykand was there supporting his boss. Lisa had again been invited for her specialized expertise. Dieter Pavel was there. So was Dan Landon, resplendent in his dress Admiral’s uniform. General Parsons of the Peace Enforcers was also present.
Upon entering the conference room, Mark walked over to where Dan Landon was standing and shook his hand.
“Good to see you again, Admiral.”
Landon smiled. “And you, Mark. Lisa is as lovely as ever, I see.”
“More lovely.”
“Just like old times. One more and we could have a Klys’kra’t reunion!”
The two of them were facing the floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking Toronto. Both were startled when a voice behind them said, “I’m up for it. Where’s the party?”
Mark pivoted to discover Mikhail Vasloff standing behind him. His surprise was such that he didn’t remember shaking hands and he stammered a greeting.
“So, anyone know why we are here?” Vasloff asked in that hail-fellow-well-met tone that he had learned to perfection.
“Not a clue,” Mark replied. Only later did he remember that Dan Landon remained mute.
“It must be important. The Coordinator sent her personal aircraft for me. I must say, I could get used to traveling that way.”
“I wish I had,” Mark mumbled. “Lisa and I were sandwiched into tourist for the jump to Toronto.”
At hearing her name, Lisa turned her head. She had been talking to one of Jean-Pierre’s minions. At the sight of Vasloff, she wore the same startled look that Mark suspected was on his own face.
Vasloff made a few more comments, then excused himself and went over to shake hands with Alan Fernandez. Fernandez had had a bad time since Sar-Say’s escape. He was taking most of the blame in the news media, blame that he richly deserved, in Mark’s opinion.
Before Mark could ponder further, Nadine Halstrom swept into the room, trailed by Anton Bartok and Tony Hulsey. At the Coordinator’s gesture, the principals sat at the long, mahogany table, while their aides took seats around the periphery.
Mark moved to his seat in front of the glass wall through which sunlight poured. He luxuriated in the heat on his back for a few seconds before the window darkened and the overhead lights came on. Behind him, the glass began to emit the low frequency white noise indicative of an anti-eavesdropping field.
“Thank you for coming,” the Coordinator said after everyone was settled “The recent scare regarding Sar-Say has caused a strategy review by my administration. Since you are all involved, we thought it best to tell you our decision before we go public.
“Tony, will you do the honors?”
“Yes, Madam Coordinator,” Hulsey replied, getting ponderously to his feet. He turned to the crowd and said, “I don’t have to tell you that Sar-Say’s recent escape unnerved everyone here in Toronto, as I am sure it did all of you. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since the news broke. I keep having visions of alien hordes invading my bedroom.
“Nor am I the only one. The cabinet has been in marathon session for much of the past three days. I can’t remember when we’ve had a more difficult decision to make, or as much acrimony making it…”
“Get on with it, Tony,” Nadine Halstrom said, her voice betraying her fatigue.
“Very well, Madame Coordinator.” He turned to survey the expectant faces around the table. “After a great deal of debate, we have made a decision. As much as many of us would like another option, we have decided to support the Colorado Springs plan.
“As of this moment, we are activating Operation Gibraltar Earth!”
#
Hulsey’s statement momentarily stunned the listeners. Mark, who was seated directly behind his boss, could tell that Hamlin was smiling by the way his ears shifted position. Lisa reached over and gave his hand a quick squeeze. A couple of other attendees were exultant.
They, however, were in a minority. The announcement elicited gasps from several people, and an audible snarl from Mikhail Vasloff. Alan Fernandez looked crestfallen. Mark caught the eye of Dan Landon, who seemed unsurprised. Possibly, he had gotten a preview.
Nadine Halstrom waited for the news to sink in before continuing. When she spoke, her tone was deceptively mild.
“I take it there are some objections to this decision. Mikhail, why don’t you start?”
Vasloff struggled to regain control. When his purplish complexion had begun to fade and he could once again speak coherently, he asked simply, “Madam Coordinator, how could you?”
“How could I not?” she replied coldly. “Sar-Say’s near escape proved that hiding from the Broa is just not a viable option.”
“I fail to see how you came to that conclusion.”
“I’ll give you two reasons: Heinz and Ludnick.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t you understand? Two human beings were willing to betray the species for a billion credits each, and without much thought on the matter, I might add.
A billion credits!
Why do you suppose Sar-Say chose that number? Because it is probably the biggest number any normal person can comprehend.”
“The Paris plan has taken that into account, Madame Coordinator. We can prevent such things from happening in the future.”
“How,
Gospodin
Vasloff? Sar-Say was able to find two willing accomplices just by passing one of them a note. How many others would have been willing to take his bribe? If a billion had proven insufficient, what number would not have been? No, this incident proves that any thought we had of hiding out forever among the stars was just so much utopianism. It’s a plan that puts all of us at the mercy of the most feckless and greedy among us.”
“We could just kill him, Madame Coordinator,” General Parsons suggested. The matter-of-fact nature of his tone caused a chill to run down Lisa’s spine.
“We considered it, General. Believe me, we considered it seriously! Unfortunately, killing Sar-Say won’t solve our problem. Once word gets out of what the Broa can offer, some idiot is liable to go looking for them on his own.