Step Back - Part 25

The broadcast of The First Line on that week would be digitally recorded aboard the Eagle and played for the mission commander and his staff. Judith Grant would also be present for the staff meeting.

Doctor Alice Boatman was the first to speak after the end of the program.

“‘Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?’”

“I’m sorry,” said Judith, “I don’t understand.”

“The quote was a reference to a historic conflict between secular and church authority,” said Doctor Boatman, “specifically between King Henry the Second and the Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Becket. It was alleged that the King had ordered the murder of Becket to resolve the conflict.”

Judith was speechless.

“Don’t worry,” said Evelyn, “the incident wasn’t covered in secular schools in the United States at this time either.”

“But why did it happen?” Said Judith.

“That is a good question,” said Evelyn, “King Henry saw the English branch of the Church as an asset of the state and had appointed Becket, who up to that point was his friend, to run it as such. But Becket subsequently saw himself as an actual servant of God, and saw himself and the church as being above the state, including King Henry. Thus the conflict and the subsequent outcome. So what happened in Dallas? Here we have William Grant, the Servant of God who was apparently untouchable by the law. He chose to physically block a medical evacuation to this ship and prevent us from saving a life. The act was simply intolerable and the response to it was simply obvious.”

Everyone at the table nodded in agreement.

A thought came to Judith’s mind. Her Uptimer hosts were consistently thinking and speaking in principles. That some of these people were personally involved in the incident simply did not matter to them.

These were clearly the children of Reason, she thought.

Boatman continued.

“Now Burke does declare that a homicide had occurred but presents it as an absolutely depraved act of murder. That he lied about this should not be a surprise. When Atlas Shrugged was published he printed a review in his own Conservative magazine, which was written by a former Communist, had denounced it as a work of propaganda that called for the extermination of Christians.”

“That’s wrong,” said Judith, “I just read Atlas Shrugged and Rand said no such thing!”

“Correct,” said Evelyn, “ the truth is completely irrelevant to them, what does matter is belief in and submission to the witch doctor, thus their twisting of the facts or outright lying. To those who value power above all else nothing matters, not the truth or the life of another person, not even of their own child. And had you died as a result of his actions without an adverse legal consequence it would have demonstrated his power over the secular authorities. ”

Judith nodded.

Boatman continued.

“And now Burke is openly calling for the legal suppression of Atlas Shrugged and other works of Objectivist literature regardless of the truth. And for the seizure of our assets both in space and on the ground.”

“And what happens if they get their wish?” Said Judith.

“We will respond with deadly force.” Said Boatman. “And with nuclear force.”

Everyone else at the table nodded.

It was after the local sunset when the chartered Aeroflot flight landed at Baikonur. A very tired and unshaven Mikhail Gorbachev stepped off the airplane and was met by two men on the ground. The first was clearly a civilian and the second was a senior Air Force officer.

The civilian spoke.

“Comrade Gorbachev, welcome to Baikonur! I’m Administrator Ivan Taganov and this is General Alexi Leonov.”

Gorbachev’s eye widened as he reached out his hand.

“I’m honored.” He said as he shook hands. And then he spoke again.

“So what do I have to do to prepare?”

“Not much,” said General Leonov, “as a passenger you will need to be fitted for a pressure suit and go up in an airplane for simulated zero gravity training, but that’s it.”

“Nothing else?” Said Gorbachev.

“You should have your personal will updated,” said Taganov, “the Proton launcher is not currently man-rated.”

“Oh...”

Neither Taganov or Leonov would at this point mention the failure of the first attempted launch of the extremely complex N-1 rocket that was designed by Sergei Korolev for lunar missions.

It was Sunday afternoon in the Bronx when two gentlemen of Sicilian descent would meet with an older gentleman in a bar.

The first of the pair spoke.

“So what do you want, Boss?”

The Mob Captain opened a folder and took out a newspaper photograph.

“Those people from the future are somehow blocking our every effort to get in on their thing. This is clearly unacceptable and we are sending them a message. We got orders from upstairs to take out this bitch, she’s running their office in Washington and it should be a simple job.”

The Mob Captain handed the folder to the two gentlemen

“Okay, Boss.” the first replied and the second nodded.

Evelyn Boatman wasn’t able to sleep, he went outside his cabin for a walk and the think.

It was obvious that things on the ground were getting out of hand. Even though there was no ethical issue with the summary execution of the Teamsters goon, a virtual nest of shrieks had been stirred out.

We went up the Command Deck and spoke to the officer of the watch, Lieutenant Krier.

“Jeff, I’ve decided to recall Commander Keller back to the Eagle for the time being. And want Commander MacDonald to down to take her place.”

Lieutenant Commander Alan MacDonald was the chief engineer. This was to be a temporary assignment until the entire mess was properly cleaned up.

“Yes, sir.” Krier replied.

Step Back - Part 23

President Nixon was meeting with Director Hoover in the Oval Office.

“Let me get this straight,” he said, “two Soviet agents have just defected to the Uptimers in Nevada?”

“Yes, sir.”  Director Hoover replied.  “They drove right up to the front gate.”

“Why?”

“Apparently they had a run in with four hoods down in Carson City and decided to seek shelter afterwards.”

“What happened to the hoods?”

“They’re dead.”

The President asked more questions.

“So why were Soviet agents in Carson City and why did they run into the hoods?”

“According to the agents who are doing the debriefing, the Soviets went to the state capital because it was the local political center, and they also decided to extend their operating funds by playing poker.”

Nixon nodded.  As a junior naval officer in the Pacific Theater he also raised personal funds by playing poker.  And some of his winnings were used to finance his first congressional campaign in California.

The President asked another question.

“So what can the Soviet agents be charged with?”

“They did enter the country on forged documents, but they haven’t committed any acts of actual espionage, and they are now cooperating with the bureau.”  Hoover replied.  “There are the local charges of homicide with respect to the hoods, but they were acting in self defense and should get off if it came to a  trial.”

“So nothing?”  Said President Nixon.

“Correct, sir.”  Said Director Hoover.

The intercom buzzed.  It was the Presidential secretary Miss Woods.

“Mr. President, the Soviet Ambassador is here.”

“Thank you, Miss Woods, send him in.”

“I’m afraid I have to speak to him.”  Said the President.

“Yes sir, I understand.”  Said Director Hoover.

Hoover let himself out a side door before the Soviet Ambassador entered. 

Once the pleasantries with Ambassador Dobrynin were complete they got on the official business.

“Mr. President, we have a delegation waiting in New York for permission to visit the Star People at the settlement in Nevada.”

“I’m sorry Anatoly,” said the President, “The Uptimers have made it very clear that they don’t want to talk to you.”

“To the Soviet Union?”

“Specifically to any representative of the Soviet Union or of any other Communist state.”

“Did they explain why, Mr. President?”

“Yes, the leader of the Uptimers said that Communism is a moral and political dead end, and until that doctrine is dropped there is simply no point in speaking to any representative of such a state.”

Ambassador Dobrynin frowned.

“I’m afraid that your delegation will have to go home.”  Said the President.

“That is regrettable.”  Ambassador Dobrynin replied sadly.

On the next morning in Moscow the Politburo met.  The fate of the intelligence officers were not on the agenda as neither the KGB or the GRU had been notified of their defections. 

The Foreign Minister began with the report of the failure of the attempt by Comrade Gorbachev to contact the Star People at their base in Nevada.  He was followed by the Defense Minister, Marshall Grechko.

“The weapon is now  ready for launch, but some of our people at Baikonur are strongly suggesting that a manned capsule be sent up instead to contact the Star People instead.”

“Oh, they have?”  General Secretary Brezhnev replied.

“Yes, Comrade General Secretary.”

Brezhnev thought for a moment.  Rumors of a weapon launch had been flying about the Kremlin since the order was given.  With the rumors came the speculation of outcome of the strike and how the Star People would respond. 

The operation was expected by many within the Kremlin to fail and that the Star People would respond adversely.  Very adversely.

Brezhnev made a decision.

“Fine,” he said, “refit the rocket to carry a Soyuz capsule.”

“Yes, Comrade General Secretary.”  Marshall Grechko replied.

“And was there a suggestion as to who would go up on this mission?”

“Yes, Comrade General Secretary.  Cosmonaut Alexi Leonov was proposed to be the mission commander.  The second seat to expected to be filled with a volunteer.”

Brezhnev thought for a moment and then replied.

“That shouldn’t be necessary.”  He said.  “Send Comrade Gorbachev to Baikonur.  He will go up to speak to the Star People.”

“Yes, Comrade General Secretary.”

Near the entrance of the Uptimer base two casually dressed men were sitting in a green Oldsmobile Toronado with the windows down.  The man in the driver’s seat spoke to his partner.

“Hey Joey, am I imagining things or are there other guys on the lookout here?”

“Whadda you mean?”

“There’s an old Fairlane and a Camaro also parked out here with guys sitting in them.”
 
“No idea.”

British agent John Cross was also on site but as a total professional he was not visible to the occupants of the Camaro, Fairlane, and Toronado.

Morons, he thought.

The Frenchman in the Camaro was not following the proper form of the espionage trade craft.  But then why should he?  It wasn’t as if he were up against the Soviets in East Berlin.  He was only up against simple Americans.

So what?  He felt.  They are imbeciles who weren’t worth the trouble.

Mr. Black in his Ford Fairlane was trying to remain concealed but the fact that he was in virtual middle of nowhere.  He quickly came to the conclusion that would not be able to quietly connect and use the people inside the base to carry out the goals of The Committee.

He decided to drive away for now.

Step Back - Part 22

Some readers may find this part disturbing.

Outside the gate of the Uptime base at Area 51 there was a cluster of small commercial buildings which included two gas stations, a diner and a small grocery store. And for the moment there was also a deep red wine colored Lincoln parked outside with the air conditioner running. The two gentlemen sitting within were having a conversation.

“It's impossible, Michael! We can't get anyone inside for any amount of time. They have some kind of magic trick, every time we sent a new guy in within three days they spot him and ask him to leave and never come back. I have no idea how they do it!”

“I haven't any idea myself.” Replied Michael Andolini.

The two gentlemen watched as a commercial tractor pulling a flatbed trailer came up to the gate. The trailer carried a load of steel reinforcement bars for a construction project within the base.

“And will you look at that! They use only non-union workers and truckers. And all of their suppliers have no connection to any family at all! How do they do it?”

“I don't know, John.” Andolini replied. “I don't know.”

Andolini then asked a question.

“So what happened down in Carson City?”

“Damned if I know, Mike. There were two guys who were cleaning out the suckers at poker and one of my soldiers and three associates met with them to straighten them out. The next thing is that my men are dead the two guys are gone. And then the man I have on lookout here sees their car drive straight up to the gate here and they let them in. They're still in there.”

“Something will have to done about that.” Said Michael Andolini.

The gentlemen watched as another truckload of rebar was delivered to the gate.

Yuri and Josef were wearing visitor badges with their FBI escort as they entered the line at the mess hall for lunch. They were astounded when they allowed entry. And very astounded when they were not disarmed.

Yuri had asked the Ranger Lieutenant who initially met them why.

“We're all citizens here.”

“I don't understand.” Said Joe.

“If you think about it, you will.” The Lieutenant replied.

The two former Soviet officers brought up the question with their FBI escort.

“Damned if I know,” he said, “I'm still trying to figure them out myself.”

In the mess line Yuri had another question for their escort.

“So what should we eat for lunch?”

“Try the Swedish Meatballs.”

“Okay.”

In the study of his Washington home Congressman George Bush was reading a file on Uptime history. He had been cleared for full information of the future and issued a laptop computer by the Uptimers. Tonight he was doing research on the topic of race relations in the future and what he found was clearly disturbing.

The Great Society and the subsequent programs of Democratic administrations had fostered a separate and clearly irrational identity for Blacks along with a state of dependency on the Democratic Party. When a civil war broke out after the assassination of President Elect Chapman the vast major of Blacks would support President Null. And some of the Black supporters would do so in an absolutely appalling way.

Bush was reading a report written by Presidential Chief of Staff Allen Keller on the aftermath of the Siege of Chicago. Chicago--along with Gary, Indiana—had formed one of the longest duration sieges during combat operations of The Reformation. And what was found inside the perimeter after the fall nothing less than appalling.

During the siege a group of Black criminals, called the Null Boyz, had been recruited to act as enforcers for the Null faction within the perimeter. Whites, Asians and especially Jews were the primary targets of their actions which were primarily robbery and murder. In no way did they contribute to the defense of the Chicago Pocket and were ultimately captured alive.

Keller had met with the surviving members of the Null Boyz with his personal protective group, Israeli soldiers who had been rescued with their families from the remnant of their homeland after the nuclear bombing by the French government.

Bush read Keller's account of what followed.

This group did not have the appearance of a beaten foe. Nor did they appear to have starved at all during the course of the siege. Although they have been issued uniforms by the faction they were not in anything close to compliance to a uniform regulation. As with other political enforcers in history, such as the SS, they had made up their own ranks and insignia.

With this group gathered together I read a summarized account of their actions—which included rape, robbery and murder--during the siege.

And then I asked why.

The apparent leader replied.

“Why? There is no why, motherfucker!”

I could swear that I could hear the security group move in response.

During the Holocaust a camp guard had performed a trivial act of oppression on an inmate. When the inmate had asked why, the response was: “There is no why.”

At this point I had set a mental trap for the leader that took advantage of his ignorance.

“So you are the Superior Race, and you rightfully can do anything to anyone?”

The gang leader had replied essentially as I expected.

“That's right Motherfucker! We are the Superior Race! What you and your faggot kikes gonna to do about it?”

At this point I pulled out my .45 and placed a round in his head. I then turned to the group leader and ordered him to finish the off the gang.

George Bush sat back and thought about what he had just read.

Step Back - Part 21

The remainder of Saturday was quiet.

On Sunday morning the sky was clear over the town of Najaf in Iraq.  On a residential street an apparently slovenly man of arabic appearance opened a briefcase and brought out a device.  In some respects the device resembled a small movie camera without a film magazine.  The man looked through the viewfinder at a particular house.  With the red dot in the view was lined up on a specific house he pressed down on a button.

In a low orbit over the region the spacecraft Kite, sister ship to the Falcon, was at action stations.

On the command deck a sensor operator spoke.

“The target is illuminated.”

Lieutenant Douglas Siekmann, the commander of the vessel, responded.

“Commence fire.”

The sky over Najaf lit up as multiple laser beams instantly flashed into and out of existence.  When the ashes and rubble of the house had reached the level of the street the barrage of light stopped.

Under the cover of confusion by the local authorities the slovenly man quietly packed the laser  designator in it’s case and departed.

On the command deck of the Kite, Lieutenant Siekmann spoke.

“The monster is down, let’s return to base.”

On the morning of the following Tuesday a brief meeting was held in Teheran.  The Shah of Iran met with the ambassador from the Republic of Iraq.

“Your Majesty, there has been a terrible incident in Najaf.  We have been attacked by the Sky People and one of your subjects, the Ayatollah Khomeini was killed.”

The Shah raised an eyebrow.

“So?  How does this concern us?”

The ambassador was taken aback, he expected some appearance of sympathy from the Shah.”

“Your Majesty, a senior cleric from this nation was murdered by the Sky People, this is clearly an attack on Islam!”

“No Mr. Ambassador, this was the elimination of a monster.”

The Shah had read the information package brought to him by the CIA.  He had been appalled to read of the dark age misrule and general destruction brought upon the nation by Khomeini and his followers.  A specific point of disgust was the use of children by the Khomeini regime to clear minefields by deliberate detonation in a clearly useless war. 

There was simply no excuse for their actions.

“Mr. Ambassador, Khomeini was an inhuman monster, he was clearly what our Western friends call an Enemy of Mankind.  And apparently your government has not been notified of the future destruction that this monster would have brought on to your nation.”

The ambassador was struck speechless.

“Was there anything else, Mr. Ambassador?”

The Shah’s next meeting was with the head of SHAVAK, the imperial security service.  It was here that he gave the order to start the planned operation to round up and execute the remaining followers of Khomeini. The information package from the CIA was quite detailed as to the members of this group and the adverse effect they would have upon the nation.  By the next sunrise of not one of the men so targeted would remain alive.

In Carson City, Nevada on that evening Yuri and Josef, the two Soviet intelligence officers, were departing from another casino after having cleaned out a third table of American suckers at poker.

They were met in the parking lot by four very large Sicilian Gentlemen.

Fuck your Mother, thought Yuri.

“You boys have been very lucky, too lucky.”  Said the lead goon.

“Well, your luck has run out.”  Said the second goon.

Yuri responded.

“Look, if you want us to leave, we’ll leave.”

“Yes.”  Said Josef.  “We’ll leave, no problem.”

“Well there is a problem,” said the lead goon, “it’s the money you took from the suckers, our money.”

The second goon spoke.

“We want it, we want it all, right now!”

Yuri made a decision.

“That’s too bad.”  He said.

This was one of their agreed upon code words for the use of deadly force.  Both officers brought out their weapons, Browning High Power pistols quietly bought by their agencies on the open market and quickly performed the what would eventually be called the Mozambique Drill on the four goons. 

Two rounds to the body and one to the head, each.

“Now what?”  Said Josef.

“We leave, right now!”

With Josef at the wheel they departed from the parking lot of the casino and returned to their own lodgings.  In the parking lot of their hotel they discussed their next move.

“So what now?”  Said Josef.  “Our respective missions are blown.”

“How can you say that?”  Said Yuri.

“We’re supposed to set up a forward base and try to recruit people inside the Uptimer base to work for us, all while on the run from both the police and the local mob?  How can we do all of that?”

“Well we can’t go home.”  Said Yuri.  “We would be taken out and shot.”

“You would be taken out and shot.”  Josef replied.  “Our officers are incinerated alive with the office trash.”

Yuri stared in shock at his GRU counterpart.

“Yes,” said Josef, “when we start duty at the Aquarium they show new intelligence officers a film of an officer being burned alive with the trash.”

“I believe you.”  Said Yuri.  “What do we do now?  Drive up to their front gate and ask them for sanctuary?”

“Why not?”

Well, why not?

With that they drove off to Area 51.