M'tak Ka'fek (The T'aafhal Inheritance) (13 page)

“Roger, stop pesterin' the man,” interjected Sally, a habitual peacemaker. “If Sid says he'll know the man just let it be at that.”

“I'm just sayin' how can we be sure is all,” Roger mumbled, unwilling or unable to wait in silence.

Putting a gray Stetson on top of his head and donning a set of dark sunglasses, Sid announced, “I'm going out to meet him when they land. Y'all can wait in here.” He headed for the door without waiting for a reply from the others. None of them made a move to follow.

As the Ranger walked out of the airport hotel building he looked to the northwest, quickly sighting the incoming shuttle against the gray overcast. It was a delta shaped craft about the size of a large business jet. Making a slow approach it floated down the runway and stopped, hovering in front of Sid's position. The only sound it made was a low thrumming that could barely be heard over the blowing wind.

Drifting over to the runway apron the shuttle rotated to present its wide back-end to the airport buildings and settled to the ground. As Sid watched, a ramp opened downward from the back of the craft. The sound of electric motors heralded the emergence of TK Parker in his four wheel drive wheelchair. He came down the ramp and headed over to where Sid was standing.

“Is that you, Ranger Hopkins?” the old man asked as his gyroscopically stabilized conveyance shifted from four wheels to two, raising TK to a standing position. Rolling up to the man, TK thrust out his hand.

“You do like to make an entrance, Mr. Parker,” Sid said, shaking the proffered hand. “Good to see you've survived this mess.”

“Better than most of mankind, I'm sad to say. And I told you the last time we met, call me TK, son.”

“OK. I'll call you TK, as long as you don't call me 'son'.”

TK guffawed.

As the pair turned toward the building Sid caught a glimpse of something large and dark at the top of the ramp. In case the reception hadn't been so friendly there were a couple of Marines in battle armor waiting inside the shuttle.

“We should get in out of the sun, unless you're partial to skin cancer,” Sid commented as they made their way to the entrance. “In spite of the overcast, our medical people say the UV levels are off the scale lately.”

“Yeah, it was all that stuff thrown up by the impacts, lots of vaporized ocean water and rock. Played the devil with the ozone layer. Science types say it will take years to return to normal.”

“Wonderful.”

“So, who am I meeting with, Sid?”

“Some of the local political leaders, seem like nice people, still trying to find their feet since... you know.”

The building that they were headed to looked like an old WWII hanger, with an arched curved metal roof and bright white siding. Emblazoned across the front was a red, white and blue insignia and the name Hangar Hotel. As they neared the entrance it became obvious that the building, though meant to look like a relic from the 1940's, was actually of much later construction. Inside, the officials waited in the hotel's barroom, a swank place filled with aviation memorabilia.

“This is a nice place,” TK commented, rolling into the lobby. “I've heard of this hotel before but never found a reason to pay a visit, though I really wanted to see the Naval museum.” Strangely enough this landlocked city housed a first-class ocean warfare museum. That was because Fredericksburg was the birthplace of one of America’s most admired admirals, Chester Nimitz. Nimitz went from humble Texas beginnings to graduate from the U.S. Naval Academy and later serve as the Commander-in-Chief of the Pacific Fleet during WWII. It went to show that one should not judge a small Texas town based on first impressions.

Rolling through the lobby, past a curving stairway to the upper floor and an empty check-in counter, TK and Sid went right to a set of double doors with a sign above them declaring “Officer's Club.” As they entered, three people sitting around a dark wooden table got up from overstuffed, red leather chairs.

“TK, I'd like you to meet Sally Musselman, Antonio Ruiz, and Roger Stoltz, acting head of the New Republic,” Sid said stepping to one side. “Folks, meet Mr. TK Parker, formerly of Texas and now from a bit farther out.”

“Welcome to the Republic of Texas,” the loquacious acting President gushed, stepping forward to shake TK's hand. Those in the official delegation now understood why Sid had insisted that they remove one of the heavy chairs from around the table. After greeting all three of the locals TK let his trick wheelchair collapse back to four wheel mode and pulled up to the empty side of the table.

“It's so nice of you to come today, Mr. Parker,” said Sally. “We get visitors so infrequently nowadays.”

“Can we offer you something to cut the trail dust, Mr. Parker?” asked Ruiz. He signaled for the unobtrusive waiter who was positioned next to a well equipped bar that ran along one wall.

“Don't mind if I do, Antonio, and call me TK, everybody does.”

“My friends call me Tony, TK. Name your poison.”

The waiter took TK's order and hustled back to the bar. Evidently the others' preferences were already known to him. Sid, the introductions complete, leaned casually back against a nearby billiard table.

The drinks soon arrived and were distributed. TK, after pausing to relish the good Kentucky bourbon, looked at his hosts and said, “That is very nice indeed, thank you. Now let's get down to cases.”

Chapter 7

Jesse's Place, Farside

After introducing Beth to a number of the other old hands from the Peggy Sue, Billy Ray excused himself and went to find the head. Beth drifted over to the magnificent mahogany here a large woman with an infectious laugh was serving up drinks. As she approached, the woman set down the glass she had been drying and smiled at her.

“Good evening, Miss. Can I get you somet'ing to drink?”

“Yes please, a gin and tonic if you have it.”

“I have Beefeater, Boodle's, Hendrick's and Plymouth,” the bartender replied.

“Hendrick's please, no lime.”

Mixing the cocktail, Jesse observed her new customer with a practiced bartender's eye. “From your accent you must come from England.”

“My parents were from Ethiopia but I'm from the UK, grew up near London. You sound like you come from the Caribbean.”

“Dat's true, I be Jamaican, by way of St Croix, Australia and de Peggy Sue.”

“You must be Jesse, Billy Ray mentioned you on the walk over.”

With kindness in her eyes, the big Jamaican woman looked across the barroom at Billy Ray, who had been waylaid on his return by some fellow crewmembers. “Mr. Billy Ray be one of the officers dat took me to Australia to join de crew. He's a good mon.”

“Oh, I've only just met him this evening,” Beth said looking inquisitively at the barkeep, “though I've known him as a voice on the radio for more than a month.”

Jesse nodded knowingly, “You was on de mission.” A statement, not a question. “You interested in Mr. Billy Ray, Miss?”

Beth was taken aback by the forwardness of the question. “Why, I'm not really sure. We really just met,” she stammered.

“Well somebody need to tell you, he not be himself of late,” Jesse said, in a much quieter voice. Leaning forward she almost whispered, “it's because he lost his lady.”

“I see,” Beth returned in a hushed tone, unsure where this conversation was leading. “I think we all have lost people close to us.”

“No, you don' understand. He lost his lady on de first voyage—her name was Susan.” She stole a quick glance at the man in question, still occupied across the room. “She was also known as Peggy Sue.”

“Peggy Sue?” Beth was puzzled for a second. “That Peggy Sue? The one the ship is named after?”

“Dat's her,” Jesse said sadly. “I never met her but Miss Gretchen and Miss Ludmilla and everyone who did say she was a nice lady, and dat she and Billy Ray was deep in love. Dey say he almost die from the loss of her.”

“I, I see.”
Why is she telling me this?
 

“So if you be interested in Mr. Billy Ray just be careful, 'cause his heart ain't fully healed yet,” Jesse looked earnestly into Beth's eyes, “An' a lot of folk would be greatly upset if he get his heart broken again.”

My God, this woman is telling me not to trifle with Billy Ray's affections,
Beth realized,
or I might incur the wrath of the high command. Could his rakish reputation just be a cover for a shattered heart?
 

“Thank you for the background information, Jesse,” Beth said to the bartender, who was looking at her expectantly. “I can assure you that I'm not looking to add to Billy Ray's emotional burdens. We've only just become friends this evening and I have no romantic designs on him.”
At least not anymore.
 

“Hey, there you are Beth,” Billy Ray said as he rambled up to the bar, “I thought maybe you grew tired of this little soiree and called it a night.”

“No, not at all. Jesse and I were just comparing accents.”

“Now that you mention it, both of you do sound a mite strange.”

Jesse smiled widely, showing her dimples, and patted Beth on the arm. “Me son, dis be a good lady, you be a gentleman wit' her.”

“Yes, Ma'am, Jesse. Had no intentions otherwise.”

The pair of officers smiled at the island woman and moved off to find a table.
Dey is a fine looking couple, dey is,
Jesse mused as they walked away.
Maybe dey find comfort in each other durin' these times of misery and woe—be a real love story, de Cowboy and de Queen of Sheba.
 

Hangar Hotel, Fredericksburg, Texas

“So you're sayin' you people want us to provide food for folks on the Moon?” asked Roger Stoltz, in a skeptical tone of voice. TK was having trouble convincing the acting President of the New Republic of Texas that they should trade with those off planet.

“Come on now, Roger,” added Sally, “You don't think he came all this way from the Moon to play a round at Lady Bird Johnson, do you?” The local municipal golf course was named after Lady Bird Johnson, a former first lady of the United States, as were a local park, rec center and several other landmarks. That was because her husband, President Lyndon Baines Johnson, grew up on a ranch just up the road. Right up until the alien attack, people had come to tour the LBJ Ranch.

“President Stoltz, it's not hard to understand,” said an exasperated TK. “You may have lost a lot of livestock already but believe me, you ain't seen the worst of it. This winter is going to be bitter cold like you've never seen before. Your herds won't be able to graze and you won't have enough fodder to get 'em through the winter. Better to trade the excess to us for equipment you can use. 

“We have all sorts of hightech stuff on Farside, stuff that you will not be able to get here on Earth anymore. We can provide electronics, medicines, even help provide communications. All we are asking for are foodstuffs, primarily meat, that we can't currently produce enough of on the base.”

“What do you mean 'help provide communications'?” asked Tony. He had been sitting quietly during TK's pitch and looked like a man weighing his options.

“As you have probably found out, most of the satellites orbiting Earth were knocked out by crap thrown up during the bombardment. All the weather satellites, most of the communication satellites and a majority of the GPS satellites got pelted with ejected material. We can either fix or replace the comm satellites and allow you to reestablish communication with other survivor enclaves—like the folks down in Australia.”

“Why do we need to talk with the Australians?” asked Roger.

“Hush, Roger,” said Sally. “What about the weather satellites, TK? It would sure be nice to know when storms are approaching.”

“Yes, Ma'am. We could certainly put up a couple of replacement satellites, let you know when a front is approaching or a hurricane brewin' out in the Atlantic.”

“Yes,” said Tony, “people don't realize that without any satellites we won't get hardly any advanced warning of an approaching storm system. And what about the GPS system? Could that be fixed?”

“Sure, take a little more doin' but we could get that back online as well.” TK could sense that they were being won over, then there was a screeching of brakes and the sound of a diesel engine from outside the bar. Looking out the large windows onto the airport grounds TK could see a tan Humvee with some kind of rocket launcher on top, parked next to the hotel.

Almost simultaneous with the Humvee's arrival the doors of the bar flew open and a man in camouflage fatigues and a slouch hat strode in. He was trailed by two other similarly attired men with sidearms. The first man marched to the table where the negotiations were taking place while his companions took up positions on either side of the doors.

“General, I'm glad to see you could make it after all,” began Roger, standing up to greet the soldier. “Mr. Parker here was just explaining all the things his people can do for us if we are willing to send them some food.”

“He was, was he?” the General responded skeptically. He was not a large man, more wiry and bandy-legged. He took off his hat to reveal light gray-blond hair in a close cut flattop. His eyes seemed permanently squinted from the Sun and, without the hat, his nose a bit too large for his narrow face. On his right shoulder there was a miniature Texas state flag, on the left a blue and red patch with a white diagonal slash, over which the numerals seven and five appeared in contrasting colors. On his left breast 'Crotchet' was embroidered in black, on the right 'U.S. Army', and in the center of his chest was a patch with two black stars.

“TK, this is General Jake Crotchet, the commander of the Republic of Texas Army,” Sally said in a soothing tone of voice, trying to avoid any unpleasantness.

TK backed away from the table and, in a single smooth motion, pivoted to face the General while shifting his wheelchair to a standing, two wheeled stance. Standing in his mechanical marvel, TK was half a head taller than the General. “Pleased to meet ya,” the older man said, sticking out his hand.