Saucer: The Conquest (27 page)

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.