Sleeper Seven (27 page)

"Mornin!" Roper greeted her. "How do you take 'em?"

"Scrambled, please, thanks. Smells amazing."

After deftly breaking three brown eggs into a bowl with one hand, Roper added some milk with the other, then chucked the egg shells through the open kitchen window into the yard.

"Order up, Vic!" he called out the window after them.

"Where is he?"

"Oh, he's out working in the garden. He's usually in charge of the kitchen but he's got some weeding to do. So I understand you've got a meeting this morning."

"Ayup, down in Texas, y'all," Sag answered on her behalf, as he sat at the small kitchen table absentmindedly folding over the edge of a placemat.

"Well...don't mind Tweetie if'n he ain't too friendly at first," Roper warned Jess, mimicking Sag's bad accent. "He's got a lot on the line with this deal. We don't know where he gets all his info, as he's pretty low on the totem, so there may be a chain in operation he's overly protective of. Sometimes he doesn't fully trust the judgement of us damned dirty hippies."

"Yeah, he seemed that way," Jess agreed. "Well I guess I don't blame him, considering. Hey, by the way, what's the big shiny thing in the back corner of the field?"

Roper frowned at Sag, but Sag knew immediately what she meant. "Oh yeah, that's Libra."

"Libra! You mean the Gen I model?"

"Yeah, that's what you do out in the country when yer car tain't work no mores. Ya set 'er out ta pasture," Sag replied, now a midwestern farmer.

Accents must be the only entertainment they have out here,
Jess thought. "Yeah that's fun with the voices and all. So anyway, about Libra, are you kidding me? It's just...out there? In the wide open? What about, like, Google satellites snapping pics of it?"

"Honey, nobody's gonna care what's out here. She's in the weeds, man, and she's almost gone anyway."

"What do you mean,
almost gone?
"

"They sink, Jess," Sag replied. "Without the ring operating you'd need a serious foundation just to support the dead weight. In two years time she'll prolly be completely buried. Might keep goin' too, unless she hits a layer of solid granite or something."

She pondered this, as Roper served her a plate of fluffy yellow scrambled eggs with a sprinkle of pepper. Returning to the kitchen, he poured more eggs into the pan, and Jess listened to them sizzle as a rooster crowed out back. The surreality of discussing the fate of worn-out spaceships in this setting was not lost on her.

After breakfast, they all took a long walk down to the back of the property. Star, waiting for them at the hangar, took them inside and led them around Big Mama to the Gen II model parked in back.

"This is our commuter, Scout. Big Mama, and all the other Gen III's, are night runners only. They removed the visual camouflage functionality on 'em, so you can't take them out during the day. Personally, I think the camo gear was always overkill, and I think they figured that out too. Works well enough — when it works — but there have been some spectacular failures. Imagine seeing a huge triangle flying above your house lit up with TV static. That really happened, and not just once! Talk about stealth, huh! Covered those up by saying they were malfunctioning advertising blimps."

This new ship, Scout, was more similar to the ship she took than to Big Mama, but was half the size. Though it emitted a low hum, it was also supported by three four-inch square timbers set into concrete footings.

"What's with the wooden posts supporting this one — does that mean you turn it off?"

"Well, the tripod supports on her stopped working about six years ago, so Roper put these posts in. Supposed to be a quick fix, but you know how those things go. And no, these posts certainly couldn't support the full weight. In the earlier models, like this one, the ring only compensates for about nine-tenths of the mass. We don't want to be running the thrusters in here in the summer, cause of the waste heat, so we support the rest of the weight the old fashioned way. Like I said before, with Big Mama they got the grav-null efficiency up to one hundred percent, so that's not an issue with her."

"So if Big Mama can account for all its weight, why are there still the three big thrusters on the bottom?"

"Well you still need 'em for a quick getaway straight up, and also all the systems are integrated, so you need the waste heat to generate the plasma envelope. So they're kinda like an appendix, but still useful in some ways. Also, if you noticed last night, on her they got a bunch of smaller recessed thrusters spread out along the edges. They're not needed for lift either though, just for station keeping."

Walking underneath the older model ship, Star reached up and grabbed a recessed lever. Pointing to the lever was a red arrow outlined in white, with the words
Pull for Release and Rescue
stenciled underneath. As Star pulled it down, three circular hatches above them slid open with a heavy metallic
thunk
.

"Jess, you take that one," Sag said, pointing to the hatch farthest from them. "You're gonna need a boost, though." Walking over with her, he lifted her until she was able to catch hold of a grab bar within the hatch. After climbing a few rungs, she emerged into a darkened crew compartment, with tiny white lights embedded into the floor blinking in sequence, leading the way to the three open hatches.

With some effort, Star climbed aboard, and after hitting a few keystrokes at a workstation, illuminated the cabin. Jess noticed immediately the crew compartment of this ship was almost an exact replica of the one she had piloted, even though the exterior dimensions were smaller. Unlike the government ship, however, there were no items of flair, with the exception of a Jolly Roger hung on one wall, and an American flag opposite it.

Star, situated at the Captain's workstation, pulled a pair of small reading glasses from her overalls pocket and put them on. Squinting at the screen, she began hunting and pecking at the keyboard. As she did so, the video panels in the floor and ceiling cleared, revealing the dim light of the hangar, while the hum of the ring rose in pitch and volume.

"Wow, this girl is loud!" Jess remarked, buckling herself into a chair. It reminded her of Six Flags when they turned on the juice to the bumper cars.

"Well she is a bit long in the tooth," Star maintained, "but she gets the job done."

"Doors are open," Sag announced, climbing aboard and taking his place at the workstation across from Star.

"OK, call Vic and get clearance."

Sag pulled a giant off-white brick of a cellphone, complete with long black rubber antenna, from a large pocket on his cargo shorts and began dialing it.

"Yeah, all set, how's it look?" Sag said into the brick, and after a few moments, looked towards Star and nodded. "...perfect day for flying. Nobody within two miles. OK then."

"We gotta check the area just in case," she informed Jess. "At low altitudes it's pretty easy to see the outline, even when I'm projecting a perfect image of the sky above us."

Star leaned towards her console and hunted and pecked some more, until suddenly Jess was startled by a loud boom from her left that jostled the ship. A second followed, from her right, and then a third from just beneath her. Looking around wildly, she grabbed the arms of her chair as her co-pilots chuckled. The thrusters, increasing their cycling rate, eventually joined the higher pitched hum of the ring. She noticed several pairs of headphones velcroed to the center console, but unlike the government ship, nobody here bothered to wear them.
It didn't seem this loud on
my
ship,
she thought to herself, as the rumbling vibrations shook her viscera.

Rising a few feet to clear the posts, Star piloted the ship slowly towards the hangar opening. Without enough lateral space to maneuver around Big Mama, however, she deftly lowered the ship to the dusty cement floor, passing underneath the larger ship with only inches to spare.

"Now you know why we keep 'er up so high, huh?" Star joked, noticing Jess once again clenching the sides of her chair.

"These girls are pretty smart though, they generally won't let you crash into anything, unless that's your intention. And they know it too. We haven't quite figured it out, but there's a kind of sentience in 'em, so you can get attached to 'em, like to a pet. Dare say you can love 'em, huh, Sag?"

"Man's best friend, right girl?" Sag replied, patting the center console. Jess began to laugh, but caught herself as she realized they weren't joking.

"Just wait 'til you get your own, you'll see," said Sag defensively, prompting a hearty guffaw from Star.

Reaching the exit, Star raised the ship to clear the threshold. The cool air they pushed out ahead of them hit the warmer outside air and instantly condensed into a fog, from which the ship emerged to ascend over the green pasture. The noise of the cycling thrusters faded as the walls of the hangar fell away, the ship becoming nearly silent as it slipped into the blue sky.

"Now I suppose you flew with the training wheels on like I am right now — the thrusters," Star said as they rose above the farm and came around to a hover. "Not much choice in these models. But like I said, a lot more capability in Big Mama — her full-on grav-null, plus the higher ring speed, means you can use momentum alone for propulsion by tipping where you want to go. In this gal, though, we always need to have the thrusters active both for hover and directional assist."

As if to demonstrate, Star gently tipped the nose of the ship down, and as the hum of the ring increased, they began to slide forward. Pushed back into her seat, Jess watched the landscape below slip into a blur. The acceleration didn't subside until they slowed thirty seconds later, and coming to a hover again, Jess found the land below had now become a turbulent mix of grayish-green water.

"...And that was twenty-six miles, ladies and gentlemen," Sag, as airline captain, announced. "If you look below, you'll get an up close and personal look at the Old Man himself, the mighty Mississippi."

Star, ignoring him, continued with her lesson. "Now if the thrusters are Kindergarten and tilting is High School, then College is using the ring alone to maneuver, without any outside help. It's possible to adjust the rotational patterns of the plasma within the toroidal flux, which directly affects the momentum, and thus the orientation and travel of the ship. Takes a steady hand though, to avoid a wobble. Right Sag?"

"Right, Star," replied Sag dryly.
Jeez, I guess every crew needs a mascot,
Jess thought to herself,
but at least the ribbing was relatively good-natured
.

"How about a little rock-a-bye?" Star asked.

"Ugh,
really?
" Sag replied contemptuously. "You really want her to heave. On our nice little Sunday drive."

"Ah, he's no fun," Star asserted to Jess, smiling. Abandoning her idea, she tipped the ship again, slower this time. "We use the rivers as our highway system; generally less observers, especially at night."

"Or if our camo is broke," piped in Sag.

"Yeah, the camo on this one is busted."

"Well, except for one feature..." Sag hinted.

"I was waiting to see when you'd bring that up," Star said derisively.

"Why not?" countered Sag.

"Fine, fine, fine." Star replied begrudgingly, and righting the ship, she tapped at her console, initiating a climb.

"Wait, aren't we exposing ourselves up here?" Jess inquired.

"Not for lo-ng," sang Sag, as he worked at his own console. A mist soon began to form over the viewing panels. "Voila, instant cover."

"Oh, so we're in a cloud?"

"Well, you can do that too, sure, but right now it's nothing but blue sky, so we're making our own."

"Huh?"

"The waste heat from the thrusters can also be redirected to combine with water in onboard baffles, creating an instant fog around the ship. The water's superheated and dispensed at high pressure from tiny nozzles all around the ship."

"When you're moving fast, though, won't the wind strip it right off?"

"At the edges, yeah, but at high enough pressure and low enough speeds, it's stable for a good three feet out from the hull," Sag explained. "It's pretty awesome."

"Oh, now that's a load of bullcrap right there," Star countered. "Even
I
think it's cheesy as hell, and I'm from Wisconsin. I, for one, am glad they discontinued it along with the other camo in the Gen III's. It's like an 80's Bond film gimmick. You should see it from the ground, Jess. A weird, smoky cloud, flying a hundred miles an hour in the opposite direction of the wind. Like that's not obvious. Ridiculous."

"Yeah, but you gotta admit it's cool to demo..." Sag replied, sounding like a wounded puppy.

"It's pretty cool, Sag," Jess offered, coming to his rescue and crinkling her nose at Star. Looking down at the panels, she noticed the fog dissipating. "Why is the panel clearing now — did we run out of water? And where do you get the water anyway? And what happens to the waste heat when you don't heat the water with it?" Jess thought the feature
was
pretty neat, but mostly just wanted Sag to feel better.

"Well first, it's just plain water we can get from any lake by dropping an intake tube. And if we're not cloud-making, the waste heat from the thrusters is just jetted out from the same nozzles, but without the water."

"And that's another knock against these Gen II's," Star interrupted, "Even in full camo mode, if the atmospherics are right, you can clearly see the heat shimmer all around the ship. It's a dead giveaway."

"
Anyway,
" Sag continued, ignoring her, "we can see down below now because I lowered a camera mast. Kinda like a reverse periscope."

"Wow, that really is some James Bond stuff there. Why did they get rid of it again?"

"Just too damn complex," Star answered, butting in again. "This was the 80's, they had plenty of black project money, and they got their rocks off on all the doo-dads. They all thought they were 'Q'. Then, over the years, the crews realized how useless and unreliable most of this camo stuff was, and just plain didn't use it. And you know what? The reports didn't go up one iota. Nobody freaked out seeing these huge black triangles with insanely bright thrusters just silently floating above their houses, fields, and highways. Well, not in any large numbers, anyway — nothing meaningful. I think the reportage rate stayed pretty much the same — one report for every two hundred sightings was their internal estimate. They had a upper threshold of one report for every fifty sightings, and as long as the needle didn't go above that, they didn't care. They underestimated the ability of human psychology to deny, forget, or just plain not give a shit about the weird stuff people see, especially when they made sure it was a solitary experience. If you suspect you're crazy, you don't generally share that with your friends and family. Course, fearing you're crazy is the first sign you're not — but never mind that. So they capitalized on that little loophole of human reasoning and instituted processes and procedures — not technological doo-dads — to make sure it didn't become an issue. Things like ensuring large groups didn't see one —
no stadium flyovers
— or that the hovering time in a single area didn't exceed a few minutes, tops. There were actually studies on this! A close-range, twenty minute sighting is much more damaging than a thirty second one — with the shorter ones, folks are more likely to go back to whatever they were doing at the time and forget about the whole thing. It just doesn't make a lasting impression."