The Second Ship (21 page)

Chapter 45

Making the rounds of the Sunday morning talk shows was never pleasant, and this morning it was downright annoying. For one thing, the host usually selected congressmen or senators wholly intent on making complete asses of themselves. This was especially true of the guest on Vice President Gordon’s left on this last of his scheduled appearances. Senator Wilkins from Wisconsin not only strove to be an ass, he was wildly successful at it.

Charles Paul, the host of Sunday This Week, knew that the end of his hour was approaching, and since he had Senator Wilkins on a roll, he tossed out more raw meat.

“So, Senator, you are saying that even though the bulk of the scientific community around the world has embraced the environmental benefits of cold fusion technology, it is not as green as it seems?”

“Not only is it not environmentally friendly, this technology threatens all the gains made by the environmental movement this last thirty years.”

“How so?”

“Look, just producing energy cleanly doesn’t clean up the environment. Energy is the fuel of consumption, and rampant consumption is what drives the train of environmental destruction. This promise of clean, cheap energy is the siren sitting on a rocky shoal, calling us all toward an ecological shipwreck. It says, produce more. Consume more. No need to fret or worry about conservation.

“And all that stuff we are consuming is made from plastics derived from petroleum, or steel, which requires coal, or through the use of harmful chemicals. And that is without even mentioning the rape of the Earth's resources.”

Charles Paul turned to the vice president. “Mr. Vice President, your response?”

Vice President Gordon smiled. “I think that the worthy senator’s words speak volumes about his party’s true agenda. When he says consumption is the root of all evil, he means capitalism is the root of all evil. He and his allies would have us adopt a model of European socialism. Beyond that, they want the government to be able to tell the American people what kind of cars they can buy, how many of each item they can consume.

“And by his argument, if consumption is ‘bad,’ that must mean lack of consumption is good. But if nobody consumes, nobody buys. If nobody buys, nobody makes. If nobody makes, nobody works. His party’s policies, if followed to their ultimate conclusion, would have everyone walking or riding an animal to work, but only if that work produced things that nobody could consume and that were not made of anything.”

“That is ridiculous!” Senator Wilkins fumed.

“For once, Senator, I agree with you.”

“The fact that you and the president are in the hip pockets of the big multinational corporations makes everything coming from your mouth a product, bought and paid for by the richest of the rich.”

“Senator, I believe last year you were claiming that the president and I were both owned by big oil. Isn’t it odd that we are embracing a technology that will take the world off of fossil fuels?”

“You are merely helping those same corporations shift to new technologies.”

“And that is bad, how?”

Charles Paul interrupted. “Gentlemen, I am afraid we are out of time. I want to thank you both for coming here to discuss this important topic. To my audience, I say, have a good Sunday, and I will see you next week.”

The vice president reached across the table and shook the host’s and then the senator’s hand, enjoying the fake smile on the latter’s face. Then, accompanied by his secret service team, Vice President Gordon exited the building, got in the backseat of his limousine, and leaned back for the ride to the West Wing of the White House.

Another Sunday and another set of guest appearances down. The truth of the matter was that he and the president had a winning hand on the topic of cold fusion, and they intended to press that advantage home. True, it was not regarded by everyone as a beneficial thing. Even groups within the Republican Party were suspicious that it came from Rho Project alien technology.

Several Christian religious groups had come out in opposition equivalent to the fatwas being issued by radical Islamist groups. However, their loss of support was more than compensated for by the large numbers of Democrats and Independents that had come on board in support of the policy. Considering the rate of worldwide adoption of cold fusion technology, there would be no putting that genie back in the bottle.

The Middle East was a problem, but even that could be dealt with. OPEC was in disarray, several of the member states calling for an all-out ban on oil exports, but those voices could not overcome the group’s addiction to cash flow. Fact was, even though new cold fusion power plants were coming on line around the world at record pace, it would be several years before a portable power unit usable in automobiles was in mass production and affordable.

In the meantime, the second technology from the Rho Project was secretly getting ready to move to human testing next month. Vice President Gordon had no doubt about the outcome of that testing. He just needed to be a little patient. Let the world get accustomed to how great the first alien technology was before introducing the next.

Gordon clasped his hands behind his head as he looked out the window. He never tired of the sight of the White House from the backseat of the vice presidential limousine. Of course, it was only a matter of time before the “vice” came off the name.

Vice President Gordon smiled. He could afford to be patient.

Chapter 46

The Johnsons arrived at the McFarland house at 3:30 p.m. and immediately received a traditional country greeting: they were put to work. In the extended McFarland family, the process of preparing the meal for a party was as much a part of the gathering as the dinner itself, maybe more so. Whether it was the church picnic or a Sunday-afternoon gathering like this one, the hostess delegated jobs in a way that would make an army first sergeant proud.

At the moment, Jack Johnson was helping Fred Smythe expand the dining room table and add the removable center leaves. Janet Johnson was in the kitchen, tossing salad and laughing at something Linda Smythe had just said. As for Heather, Mark, and Jennifer, they scurried around gathering the table settings, while Heather’s father carved the roast.

Heather and Jennifer cast fleeting glances at Jack. As striking as Janet appeared, Jack lit the room like a supernova. He was brown haired, lean and muscular, a little over six feet in height, and dressed with a casual elegance that would have made Hannibal Lecter proud. Although his chiseled features were handsome, it was the confident ease with which he moved and interacted with those around him that set him apart. Heather was amazed. Where were all these cat people coming from?

As for Mark, he seemed intent on checking if the ladies in the kitchen needed anything else carried out to the table. It didn’t require much of Heather’s enhanced imagination for her to guess why.

Dinner passed very pleasantly, the Johnsons chatting with the Smythes and McFarlands as comfortably as old friends. Heather couldn’t recall her dad and Mr. Smythe ever telling so many tales about their exploits. The pleasant laughter of the Johnsons just seemed to pull the tales from them.

Toward the end of the meal, the talk turned to the Johnsons. Interestingly enough, they had been college sweethearts from eastern Maryland, where they had met in a ballroom dancing club. Having seen the way Jack and Janet moved, Heather imagined that the sight of these two doing the tango would probably generate enough heat to send the other couples scurrying to rent rooms.

After dinner, as the Johnsons received a walking tour of the McFarland and Smythe houses, Mark, Jennifer, and Heather retreated to Heather’s room.

As she closed the door behind them, Heather said, “It’s okay to stop drooling now, Mark.”

“Me? What about you two? I haven’t seen that much mooning around in my life.”

Jennifer held up her hands. “Enough already. So the Johnsons are hot. It’s not as if we haven’t seen really hot people before.”

Heather and Mark simultaneously raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll grant you they’re hotter than most.”

Mark plopped down on the end of Heather’s bed. “So what have you come up with?”

Heather started her usual pacing. “I finished reviewing all the data we got on our last trip out to the ship. As much as I hate to admit it, it turns out Mark is right. We do need to build both a subspace receiver and a subspace transmitter.”

“I keep telling you to listen when I speak,” Mark said.

“It’s not that we need it to receive a signal. But we’re going to want to put data on remote network lines, not just receive. For that we’ll need a focused subspace wave packet that will induce a signal in normal space. You can almost think of it as Faraday's induction principle applied across a subspace to normal space interface.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Jennifer.

“Would you mind saying that again in English?” said Mark. “Wait. Boil it down to the Cliff’s Notes version.”

Heather sighed. “It gives us an untraceable wiretap, almost as if we had a QT device installed on the far side. There are two problems, though,” she continued. “The transmitter is going to require a significant power source, capable of generating high-energy photons like hard x-rays or gamma rays.”

“Why?” asked Jennifer.

“It has to ring subspace hard enough to cross the subspace to normal space induction threshold. We need high energy for that kind of signal amplitude. I’m afraid that energy is going to have to come from the hard photons.”

“Well, then, we’re screwed,” said Mark. “Unless, of course, you know someone willing to sell us some plutonium.”

“Actually, I’ve been thinking about that too,” said Heather.

“How did I know that you were going to say that?”

“Cold fusion generates those energetic photons. I think we can build a cold fusion tank the size of an aquarium.”

Mark groaned. “And what, may I ask, is this likely to cost us?”

Heather shrugged. “I read that a physicist at Cal Tech built one in his basement for around ten thousand.”

Jennifer’s eyes widened. “Ten thousand dollars! Where are we going to come up with that kind of cash?”

“Relax. His apparatus was almost as big as my bedroom. Ours shouldn't cost more than two thousand.”

“And that helps, how?”

“I have over a thousand dollars in my checking account. I’m sure each of you has a few hundred saved up.”

Mark gasped. “You want us to personally fund this crazy scheme? I worked hard for that money. I’m saving up for a used car. No way I’m going into senior year without a car.”

Jennifer nodded. “I don’t know, Heather. I was wanting a new laptop. I only have seven hundred and thirty-seven dollars and twenty-two cents in my account.”

“Look, I know it’s not a pleasant idea. Do you think I want to spend all my savings on this little science project? I don’t. But you know what? I don’t think we have any choice. Right now we’re flying blind. We hope our little venture into cyberspace got the NSA people checking out the Rho Project, but we don’t know.”

Mark shook his head. “We can hack into the net again like last time.”

“I don’t want to risk it,” said Jennifer. “They almost caught us last time. My guess is that they would be on us quick.”

“Jen is right,” Heather said. “And we need to be able to hack into any remote network untraceably, even secure ones. The subspace receiver could even pick up signals on fiber-optic networks since light leaks energy into subspace the same as any other source.”

“Okay. I’m just not big on getting cooked by gamma rays.”

“If we were dealing with high levels of the fusion reaction, that might be a problem. We’ll only be producing and using low levels of gamma and x-ray flux. That means we’ll need to have some lead shielding around the tank, but not a lot. The main byproduct of the reaction will be hot water.”

Jennifer stood up. “I think it would be a good idea, though, to set up a little generator that uses the heat to generate electricity and feeds it back into the power for the house. That way if anyone looks at our setup, it just looks like a normal cold fusion experiment.”

“Makes sense,” said Mark, reluctantly. “We can’t be running back and forth to the ship all the time. That means we need to build this thing in our old workshop in the garage. With something like this, you can bet our dads will want to review our plans to ensure it’s safe.”

“You’re right,” said Heather. “I hadn’t thought about that.” She paused, rubbing her chin. “I know I can sell Dad on the idea if we pitch it right. And I think I know how to do that. This could be our entry into the national science competition for next year.”

“Our subspace receiver is going to be in a science contest?” Jennifer asked.

“Not the subspace receiver, just the cold fusion apparatus. The project would be to build a household cold fusion power supply. The gamma probe can be hidden in a small detector that we use to keep track of internal radiation and reaction levels. That way the subspace transmitter and receiver can be hooked to the power supply through an external connection and controlled from a laptop.”

“There’s no way we’ll be able to hide this project from Dad,” said Mark. “And he’ll know how much it’s costing us.”

“I know,” said Heather. “My dad will know too. Our sales pitch has to be good. If they believe we’re serious about this contest, I think they’ll be supportive.”

Mark looked morose. “I can’t believe I’m even considering giving up my car savings for a science contest.”

“Look at it as an investment,” Heather replied. “Sometimes companies give nice grants to the winners of this contest or even buy the winning technology.”

A call from downstairs interrupted their planning session. “Heather, Mark, Jennifer! Come on downstairs!”

As Heather and the Smythe twins reached the bottom of the stairs, they could see that the Johnsons had retrieved their coats and were saying their good-byes. Seeing the three friends, Jack walked over and shook each of their hands.

“Janet already had the pleasure of having you in her class at school, but I wanted you all to know that I enjoyed meeting you.” Jack’s face grew serious as he turned toward Heather, his dark eyes flashing in the lamplight. “Your parents told us about the creep stalking you.”

“‘Stalking’ may be a bit of an overstatement,” said Heather nervously.

“Maybe so, young lady. He’s probably just a deranged homeless man. All the same, you should be watchful. I don’t like the idea of someone leaving threatening notes on your window.”

Heather nodded, oddly flattered that Jack had taken enough interest to warn her. “I’ll be careful. Thank you.”

The dark look passed from Jack’s face as if it had never been there, and once again he and Janet were smiling and saying their farewells. Then they swept from the house, like Mary Poppins floating off on her umbrella, with an otherworldly grace that left the room feeling empty.

“A vigorous young couple,” said Heather’s father as the Johnsons drove away.

“With anyone else I would say that was an odd choice of words,” said Mr. Smythe. “But somehow, I have to agree with you.”

“Well, I think they’re nice,” Heather’s mom said, a slight note of disapproval in her voice.

Heather’s father raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t say they weren't.”

Mrs. Smythe laughed. “Well, I guess it’s perfectly reasonable that someone can be both nice and vigorous. Anyway, let me gather my tribe and head them home. Thanks for the lovely evening.”

After a round of hugs, the Smythes grabbed their coats and made their way out the door. Heather kissed her parents good night then headed upstairs for bath and bed.

She wasn’t quite sure why Jack Johnson's comment about the Rag Man had disconcerted her so. For a brief instant, when Jack’s eyes narrowed in the dim lamplight, Heather had felt as if the grim reaper himself had swept through the room.

Heather shook off the recollection. Obviously her overactive imagination was getting the best of her.