John Cross was traveling under a false identity. The flight on a British airliner from Heathrow to JFK on Long Island was perfectly boring. And while he did perform his usual chat up of a stewardess in the First Class section he would not have time for any extracurricular sexual activity on this mission.
To an external observer he was an example of an increasingly rare phenomena, the aging and well off British financier traveling on business. Unfortunately with the Labour Party in power in the United Kingdom this facade was becoming less credible by the day.
Cross had his travel documents ready when he stepped up to the young woman at the customs station. There was a cursory examination the documents and his luggage.
The young woman smiled.
“Welcome to the United States, Mister Rose.”
He smiled in return.
“Thank you.”
From JFK Airport he took a cab to a Hilton Hotel in Manhattan. Once he was in his room he made a phone call to a local number.
“This is Jack Rose, I’ve arrived.”
A woman’s voice responded.
“Thank you Mister Rose.”
Roughly an hour later there was a knock on the door of the hotel room. He answered it.
It was an old friend in the intelligence service, Richard Drake.
“Jack, it’s damned good to see again, even under the circumstances! So they pulled you out of retirement for this?”
He had met Drake when he was a newly commissioned subaltern in Korea. Drake was now covered as the British press attache in New York.
He replied.
“Dicky, you know a training slot is not retirement.”
“It may as well be.” Drake responded. “I brought your stuff.”
Drake carried a large suitcase into the room. When Cross closed the door the case was opened.
“Here you go,” said Drake, “An M1911A1 pistol with shoulder rig, daylight and infrared cameras, and some American silver coins and paper currency.”
Drake then pulled a set of keys from his coat pocket.
“And your car, a new Ford Mustang with a large bore engine and four speed manual gearbox. God only knows why you’re getting all this American...stuff.”
“You should know why, Dicky.” Cross replied. “It fits in here in the States and I can resupply locally. This isn’t one of those silly James Bond movies.”
To actual intelligence officers the James Bond series, both the literary works by Ian Fleming and the movies based on them, were a series of bad jokes.
In part this was because working intelligence officers didn’t get laid as often as the fictional Secret Agent 007.
Drake spoke again.
“Awful mess in Minneapolis, what?”
“Yes,” Cross replied, “But it’s not our problem. The PM wants to knew why these people are not talking to us.”
“It’s very obvious,” Drake replied, “all he has to do is look in a mirror.”
It was no secret that the Uptimers were averse to socialism.
“What the PM wants is a politically acceptable answer.”
“Well what can I say to that?” Said Drake. “Good luck.”
Across Manhattan the scene was repeated three times with one French and two Soviet intelligence officers who were also operating without legal cover. The Frenchman would drive a Chevrolet Camaro to Nevada while the Soviets were issued Chrysler products for their mission. In each case for the Soviets it was a standard four door Plymouth sedan.
Later in the evening aboard the SS Apollo, the flagship of the Sea Organization of the Church of Scientology--L. Ron Hubbard--the founder of church was opening a large manila envelope that was addressed to him.
The contents of the envelope were pages containing text and photographs. Hubbard then read the cover letter.
As a practitioner of Ayn Rand’s philosophy of Objectivism I would not normally care about any aspect of Scientology or Dianetics. However, as a result of our accidental journey backwards in time we have information that does concern you and the COS. After your death on the original timeline in 1986 a young man, David Miscavige, had in a fashion contrary to your instructions taken control of the COS. As the head of COS Miscavige had practiced Black Dianetics and brought the church to the edge of extinction. Normally I would not be concerned about this but his actions would ultimately result in the inflicting of needless suffering on members of the Sea Org and at least one senseless and preventable death. As an Objectivist I cannot in good conscience allow this to happen without an intervention. I fully recommend that Miscavige be permanently disconnected from the COS. As to the question of if process R2-45 should be carried out on him I will leave this to you.
Evelyn Boatman, Mission Commander of Starship Eagle
PS: RAH says hi.
Scientology process R2-45 was the termination of a life with a M1911A1 pistol. Hubbard himself had personally described it as, “an enormously effective process for exteriorization but its use is frowned upon by this society at this time.”
Some people in the audience had found this statement humorous.
Hubbard now sat back in his chair and examined the primary contents of the package.
In Nevada right after the sunset Evelyn Boatman sat in a wheelchair outside of his hospital room. He was pondering the events that were now in motion and wishing he had a couple of double cheese burgers from White Castle.
Showing posts with label White Castle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label White Castle. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 03, 2014
Monday, September 01, 2014
STEP BACK, Part 5
It was at this time that the Defense Minister, Marshall of the Soviet Union Andrei Grechko, spoke up.
“Comrades, seven years ago the Americans conducted a nuclear weapon test in outer space over the Pacific Ocean. The electromagnetic pulse given off by the weapon killed roughly one third of the satellites in orbit at the time. I now believe that we can do the same to the starship.”
“You can hit it and destroy it?” Asked the Industry Minister.
“No.” Grechko replied. “We only need to place a nuclear weapon in close proximity to the vessel. The electromagnetic pulse will render its command and control systems inert.”
“How do you plan to do this?” Brezhnev said.
“The Proton rocket can launch a six ton payload to that altitude. And we should be able to assemble a weapon within that mass using existing components.”
Brezhnev looked around the room before speaking again.
“Are there any objections?”
Gorbachev did think of an objection. What if the Star People had intercepted the weapon or it otherwise failed? What would stop them from retaliating in kind?
But given his present situation he decided to remain silent.
Seeing that there were no objections Brezhnev spoke again.
“Comrade Grechko, you will proceed with this operation.”
He then looked down to Gorbachev.
“Comrade Gorbachev, you will go directly to the United States and directly speak to the leader of the Star People. Make him an offer that he will accept to come over to the Soviet side.”
“Yes, Comrade General Secretary.” Gorbachev replied.
How the Hell was he supposed to do that? He thought.
On Saturday evening in a mass meeting was being held, William Grant stood before the multitude assembled within the Minneapolis Auditorium. Deliberated seated in the front rows of the audience were the widows and orphaned children of the Minneapolis police officers killed by the Uptimers.
He looked upon the assembled multitude and spoke.
“My friends, I normally come to you to bring the good news of our Lord Jesus Christ, but that is not my mission for this evening. On the Thursday of this week a great crime was committed. Police officers of this great city were brutally and systemically hunted down and murdered. Why?”
Grant paused and looked out again at the assembled audience.
“These men were murdered for simply doing their duty to this great community. Those who committed these murders claimed to have traveled backwards in time, an act that is a simply violation of God's law. They also claim that there is no God and that he did not send his son, Our Lord Jesus Christ, to teach us the truth and to ultimately die for our sins. In speaking these falsehoods they deceived themselves and now are attempting to deceive us. But we will not be deceived, we will hold to God's truth, and we will ultimately prevail.”
In a three story building on the corner of Ninth Street and LaSalle Avenue in downtown Minneapolis a meeting was being held in the news department of WCCO Television. The station was an affiliate of the CBS Television Network but on this evening they were, even on a very short notice, broadcasting the William Grant Crusade. And as with the normal broadcasts of the Crusade program the station was videotaping the normal network programming for broadcast at a later time.
“Can you believe this shit?” Someone said in the back of the room.
The CBS Network in New York had originally declined to broadcast the Uptimer version of the events, including the video of the initial encounter between Boatman and the local cops. But when WTCN, an independent station, had broadcast the encounter on their news program and WCCO had to quickly follow suit.
As a result it was also a damned good thing that the 101 st Airborne Division was now policing the city instead of the MPD.
On the monitor of the broadcast Grant continued to speak.
“So who are these depraved beings who murder good men at will and with apparent impunity? These beings are clearly the servants of Satan...”
Roger Allen, the head of the News department switched off the monitor.
“This has to be a breach of our contract with the network.” He said.
Dave Moore, who normally read the local evening news during the week spoke up.
“So what do we do?”
“Damned if I know, Dave.” Roger replied. “I will be damned if I know. What the Hell was Boatman doing here in the first place?”
A reporter spoke up.
“Apparently he was here to speak with several technology firms about adopting their technology.”
“So what was he doing at the White Castle?” Dave asked.
“According to one manager for a local firm I spoke to Boatman apparently fell in love with the sliders when he went to college in California.”
“They have White Castles in California?” Dave asked again.
“Apparently in Twenty-one-twenty Anno Domini they will.”
Dave nodded.
Roger spoke again.
“Apparently the network dropped the ball on this one, and we should have done a better job covering this story ourselves. From now on we will report the facts on this story regardless of whose toes we end up stepping on. Is that clear?”
Everyone in the room spoke or nodded in agreement.
“Now let’s get to work.”
In the family home outside of Dallas, Texas, Judith Grant sat in the living room with her family and watched her father on his broadcast from Minneapolis.
“So who are these depraved beings who murder good men at will and with apparent impunity? These beings are clearly the servants of Satan, sent here to deceive us and turn us from the path of righteousness.”
Without permission Judith had seen the independent television news coverage of the initial incident between the leader of the Uptimers and the Minneapolis Police. And the police in this incident were clearly not acting in the proper manner.
Why would her father lie about this? She privately thought to herself.
She continued to sit and watch the broadcast.
At the Uptimer base in Nevada Evelyn Boatman sat up in his hospital bed and also watched the broadcast. Normally he would have preferred to read a transcript. Those who claimed to have knowledge were very annoying to those in actual possession of same. And man on the screen strongly reminded Boatman of an evangelist on the original timeline who claimed that passage of destructive effects of Niven 69 were God’s punishment of humanity for their collective sins.
What a moron. He had thought at the time.
He had another thought. If Grant continued to be a problem he would have to dealt with. Just as the aboriginal natives of the planet Eden were.
“Comrades, seven years ago the Americans conducted a nuclear weapon test in outer space over the Pacific Ocean. The electromagnetic pulse given off by the weapon killed roughly one third of the satellites in orbit at the time. I now believe that we can do the same to the starship.”
“You can hit it and destroy it?” Asked the Industry Minister.
“No.” Grechko replied. “We only need to place a nuclear weapon in close proximity to the vessel. The electromagnetic pulse will render its command and control systems inert.”
“How do you plan to do this?” Brezhnev said.
“The Proton rocket can launch a six ton payload to that altitude. And we should be able to assemble a weapon within that mass using existing components.”
Brezhnev looked around the room before speaking again.
“Are there any objections?”
Gorbachev did think of an objection. What if the Star People had intercepted the weapon or it otherwise failed? What would stop them from retaliating in kind?
But given his present situation he decided to remain silent.
Seeing that there were no objections Brezhnev spoke again.
“Comrade Grechko, you will proceed with this operation.”
He then looked down to Gorbachev.
“Comrade Gorbachev, you will go directly to the United States and directly speak to the leader of the Star People. Make him an offer that he will accept to come over to the Soviet side.”
“Yes, Comrade General Secretary.” Gorbachev replied.
How the Hell was he supposed to do that? He thought.
On Saturday evening in a mass meeting was being held, William Grant stood before the multitude assembled within the Minneapolis Auditorium. Deliberated seated in the front rows of the audience were the widows and orphaned children of the Minneapolis police officers killed by the Uptimers.
He looked upon the assembled multitude and spoke.
“My friends, I normally come to you to bring the good news of our Lord Jesus Christ, but that is not my mission for this evening. On the Thursday of this week a great crime was committed. Police officers of this great city were brutally and systemically hunted down and murdered. Why?”
Grant paused and looked out again at the assembled audience.
“These men were murdered for simply doing their duty to this great community. Those who committed these murders claimed to have traveled backwards in time, an act that is a simply violation of God's law. They also claim that there is no God and that he did not send his son, Our Lord Jesus Christ, to teach us the truth and to ultimately die for our sins. In speaking these falsehoods they deceived themselves and now are attempting to deceive us. But we will not be deceived, we will hold to God's truth, and we will ultimately prevail.”
In a three story building on the corner of Ninth Street and LaSalle Avenue in downtown Minneapolis a meeting was being held in the news department of WCCO Television. The station was an affiliate of the CBS Television Network but on this evening they were, even on a very short notice, broadcasting the William Grant Crusade. And as with the normal broadcasts of the Crusade program the station was videotaping the normal network programming for broadcast at a later time.
“Can you believe this shit?” Someone said in the back of the room.
The CBS Network in New York had originally declined to broadcast the Uptimer version of the events, including the video of the initial encounter between Boatman and the local cops. But when WTCN, an independent station, had broadcast the encounter on their news program and WCCO had to quickly follow suit.
As a result it was also a damned good thing that the 101 st Airborne Division was now policing the city instead of the MPD.
On the monitor of the broadcast Grant continued to speak.
“So who are these depraved beings who murder good men at will and with apparent impunity? These beings are clearly the servants of Satan...”
Roger Allen, the head of the News department switched off the monitor.
“This has to be a breach of our contract with the network.” He said.
Dave Moore, who normally read the local evening news during the week spoke up.
“So what do we do?”
“Damned if I know, Dave.” Roger replied. “I will be damned if I know. What the Hell was Boatman doing here in the first place?”
A reporter spoke up.
“Apparently he was here to speak with several technology firms about adopting their technology.”
“So what was he doing at the White Castle?” Dave asked.
“According to one manager for a local firm I spoke to Boatman apparently fell in love with the sliders when he went to college in California.”
“They have White Castles in California?” Dave asked again.
“Apparently in Twenty-one-twenty Anno Domini they will.”
Dave nodded.
Roger spoke again.
“Apparently the network dropped the ball on this one, and we should have done a better job covering this story ourselves. From now on we will report the facts on this story regardless of whose toes we end up stepping on. Is that clear?”
Everyone in the room spoke or nodded in agreement.
“Now let’s get to work.”
In the family home outside of Dallas, Texas, Judith Grant sat in the living room with her family and watched her father on his broadcast from Minneapolis.
“So who are these depraved beings who murder good men at will and with apparent impunity? These beings are clearly the servants of Satan, sent here to deceive us and turn us from the path of righteousness.”
Without permission Judith had seen the independent television news coverage of the initial incident between the leader of the Uptimers and the Minneapolis Police. And the police in this incident were clearly not acting in the proper manner.
Why would her father lie about this? She privately thought to herself.
She continued to sit and watch the broadcast.
At the Uptimer base in Nevada Evelyn Boatman sat up in his hospital bed and also watched the broadcast. Normally he would have preferred to read a transcript. Those who claimed to have knowledge were very annoying to those in actual possession of same. And man on the screen strongly reminded Boatman of an evangelist on the original timeline who claimed that passage of destructive effects of Niven 69 were God’s punishment of humanity for their collective sins.
What a moron. He had thought at the time.
He had another thought. If Grant continued to be a problem he would have to dealt with. Just as the aboriginal natives of the planet Eden were.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Second Episode
September 19, 1969
Evelyn Boatman slowly awakened.
He was laying in a hospital bed under full terrestrial gravity. He could feel an oxygen tube in place on his nose. When he opened his eyes he saw a familiar figure standing beside the bed. A woman in scrubs and a white lab coat and holding a clipboard. The ship’s surgeon and his adopted daughter Alice.
“Hi Dad.” She said.
“What happened?” He replied. “Where am I?”
“We’re at our ground base. You seriously stirred up a nest of shrieks dirtside.”
The current ground base for the Eagle mission was at the U.S. Government’s Secret Area 51 in New Mexico.
He nodded, then replied.
“In the Terran context it should be hornets.”
“Whatever.” She replied. “What was the last thing you remember?”
He thought for a moment before answering.
“We had found temporary sanctuary at the local FBI office. The squad lander had set down in front of the Federal Building on Third Avenue and the Ranger squad was deployed in a circle. John and I had almost made it to the lander when something hit me in the back.”
Alice nodded and replied.
“It was a thirty caliber rifle fired by a police marksman. He apparently thought that the Federal order to not shoot you didn’t apply to him. The Rangers responded and killed every Minneapolis cop in sight. The dirtside press are now calling the incident the Minneapolis Massacre.”
“Morons.” He said.
“The cops or the press?” She replied.
“Both.”
Alice nodded.
He had another question.
“So how’s John?”
“He’s unharmed and back with his family in Huntsville.” She said. “Everyone at NASA Huntsville is seriously angry about the incident. And apparently Werner was actually cursing in Deutsche, something about the SS not being that stupid.”
Boatman could only nod. Doctor Von Braun’s personal history was something that not discussed.
Alice spoke again.
“So what happened to you? Well the bullet missed the heart but the right lung did collapse and we had to reinflate it. I want to keep you in bed until I’m certain it remains inflated. Do you understand?”
He looked up at Alice, she had her serious doctor look on her face.
“Yes ma’am.” He replied.
In Washington President Richard Milhous Nixon was not looking forward to the coming meeting. The Minneapolis Massacre had become a political nightmare for the administration. Although the Uptimers were fully cooperating with the FBI and fully presenting their case to the press the various news outlets were not presenting all of the facts. There appeared to be a concerted effort on the press to place the full blame for the incident on the Uptimers and the federal agencies that supported them.
The meeting would be held in the cabinet room in the West Wing. Along with the president would be the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Earle Wheeler of the United States Army, and the Director of the FBI, J. Edgar Hoover. The Uptimers would be represented by executive officer of the Eagle, Lieutenant Commander Michelle Keller. Commander Keller had brought a one of the spare laptop computers from the Eagle with her for the meeting.
The other side would be represented by Senators Hubert Humphrey and Edward Kennedy.
An aide poked his head into the cabinet room and spoke.
“Mister President, the senators are here.”
“Send them in.”
“Yes sir.”
The three men stood up while Commander Keller remained seated.
As in the current norm the men shook hands then Senator Humphrey turned towards Commander Keller and put forth his hand with the expectation of a handshake. The Commander only responded with a cold stare.
President Nixon had read the full history of the United States up to the historical event the Uptimers called The Reformation. Given what he read he had expected the Uptimers to have a full hatred of the Democratic Party. What he found truly disturbing was their cold and clinical contempt for the Democrats instead of the emotional state of hatred.
Humphrey spoke.
“Do you understand courtesy?”
Commander Keller coldly responded.
“Where we come from the proper response to the presence of a Democrat is one round in the head in the old Soviet style.”
Both senators were shocked, their eyes widened.
Commander Keller pointed to the chairs as a command motion to sit.
The temperature in the cabinet room seemed to have dropped as the senators silently sat down.
Nixon had also read of the efforts of the political successors of the Democrats to prevent the construction of the sublight starships that would carry humans from the path of the oncoming neutron star that was expected to destroy Human Civilization in the Solar System.
As one of the Germans at Huntsville who also read the report had put it--those fools could have given Nietzsche several pointers on the philosophy of Nihilism.
Even so the clinical contempt of the Uptimers remained disturbing to the president.
President Nixon spoke.
“The subject of the discussion is the incident in Minneapolis yesterday.”
“Yes,” said Humphrey, “when will those murderers be brought to justice?”
Commander Keller calmly responded.
“Mister Humphrey, your police in Minneapolis chose to behave as predatory animals and were identified and dealt with as such. Justice has already been properly served.”
Humphrey face turned red as he raised his voice in response.
“THAT IS A LIE!”
Commander Keller said nothing in response. Instead she opened the laptop computer and positioned it so everyone at the table could see the screen and entered the command to play the audio-video file recorded by the lapel camera worn by Evelyn Boatman. Only after the file had completely played did she respond.
“As you can see the two officers in the initial incident failed to comply with the operational standards of a proper civil constabulary. Under the circumstances Mission Commander Boatman had no choice but to defend himself with deadly force.”
Both Director Hoover and General Wheeler nodded in agreement.
General Wheeler spoke up.
“Your cops were also ordered to stand down. Instead one of them shot Commander Boatman and the squad responded to that action in accordance to proper infantry doctrine.”
All of the television network news programs had shown newsreel footage of the Ranger squad, in their powered armor suits, engaging the Minneapolis Police on the ground. But the networks had consistently not shown the rifle shot that struck Boatman.
Humphrey spoke again.
“The Minneapolis police were slaughtered like animals! They didn’t know what they were up against!”
Director Hoover shook his head and replied.
“Senator, all the police departments in the Twin Cities area were notified of Commander Boatman’s visit to the area. The Saint Paul police informed their officers on duty of this. The Minneapolis police did not. So whose fault is this?”
Humphrey was struck silent, Kennedy now spoke up.
“So when will these monsters be disarmed?”
Commander Keller replied with a level voice.
“The citizens are the sovereign authority, those who seek to disarm them are traitors to the nation and should be put to death.”
Kennedy’s face turned red and he shouted in response.
“SHUT UP!”
President Nixon now interjected himself.
“Commander, I believe the senator is referring to your nuclear weapons.”
The planners of the Eagle expedition had no idea if anyone was still alive in the Solar System or how they would respond to a mission from Alpha Centauri. It was assumed that a hostile response was possible and that the expedition should be prepared for it. The Eagle at present carried more nuclear warheads than were in the arsenals of the United Kingdom, France, China, and Israel. Only the United States and Soviet Union outnumbered them in nuclear bombs and warheads.
“It simply won’t happen, sir.” She replied. “And Eagle is presently parked in geosynchronous orbit at about the longitude of Omaha, Nebraska. Our onboard laser batteries are presently providing coverage against a possible Soviet ballistic missile attack on the United States. If a hostile government were to come to power in the United States we would have withdraw our block against Soviet actions.”
What she left unsaid was that if a hostile president were elected it would be a very good idea to not be in Washington on Inauguration Day.
“You are the criminals!” Kennedy shouted.
Commander Keller slightly smiled, looked straight at Kennedy, and then she calmly spoke.
“Speaking of actual criminals, how is Mary Jo?”
Kennedy’s eyes widened. He shouted in response.
“HOW DARE YOU!”
Commander Keller’s eyes lit up as she spoke in response.
“Teddy, a proper government holds it’s elected officers to the highest reasonable standards, and the act of leaving a helpless young woman to slowly suffocate to death is something we treat as a capital crime.”
Well yes, the young woman in question was a Democrat, but a valid law must be applied to everyone without exception.
Kennedy quickly stood up and left the cabinet room.
President Nixon then spoke.
“Senator Humphrey, it appears that this meeting is over.”
Evelyn Boatman slowly awakened.
He was laying in a hospital bed under full terrestrial gravity. He could feel an oxygen tube in place on his nose. When he opened his eyes he saw a familiar figure standing beside the bed. A woman in scrubs and a white lab coat and holding a clipboard. The ship’s surgeon and his adopted daughter Alice.
“Hi Dad.” She said.
“What happened?” He replied. “Where am I?”
“We’re at our ground base. You seriously stirred up a nest of shrieks dirtside.”
The current ground base for the Eagle mission was at the U.S. Government’s Secret Area 51 in New Mexico.
He nodded, then replied.
“In the Terran context it should be hornets.”
“Whatever.” She replied. “What was the last thing you remember?”
He thought for a moment before answering.
“We had found temporary sanctuary at the local FBI office. The squad lander had set down in front of the Federal Building on Third Avenue and the Ranger squad was deployed in a circle. John and I had almost made it to the lander when something hit me in the back.”
Alice nodded and replied.
“It was a thirty caliber rifle fired by a police marksman. He apparently thought that the Federal order to not shoot you didn’t apply to him. The Rangers responded and killed every Minneapolis cop in sight. The dirtside press are now calling the incident the Minneapolis Massacre.”
“Morons.” He said.
“The cops or the press?” She replied.
“Both.”
Alice nodded.
He had another question.
“So how’s John?”
“He’s unharmed and back with his family in Huntsville.” She said. “Everyone at NASA Huntsville is seriously angry about the incident. And apparently Werner was actually cursing in Deutsche, something about the SS not being that stupid.”
Boatman could only nod. Doctor Von Braun’s personal history was something that not discussed.
Alice spoke again.
“So what happened to you? Well the bullet missed the heart but the right lung did collapse and we had to reinflate it. I want to keep you in bed until I’m certain it remains inflated. Do you understand?”
He looked up at Alice, she had her serious doctor look on her face.
“Yes ma’am.” He replied.
In Washington President Richard Milhous Nixon was not looking forward to the coming meeting. The Minneapolis Massacre had become a political nightmare for the administration. Although the Uptimers were fully cooperating with the FBI and fully presenting their case to the press the various news outlets were not presenting all of the facts. There appeared to be a concerted effort on the press to place the full blame for the incident on the Uptimers and the federal agencies that supported them.
The meeting would be held in the cabinet room in the West Wing. Along with the president would be the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Earle Wheeler of the United States Army, and the Director of the FBI, J. Edgar Hoover. The Uptimers would be represented by executive officer of the Eagle, Lieutenant Commander Michelle Keller. Commander Keller had brought a one of the spare laptop computers from the Eagle with her for the meeting.
The other side would be represented by Senators Hubert Humphrey and Edward Kennedy.
An aide poked his head into the cabinet room and spoke.
“Mister President, the senators are here.”
“Send them in.”
“Yes sir.”
The three men stood up while Commander Keller remained seated.
As in the current norm the men shook hands then Senator Humphrey turned towards Commander Keller and put forth his hand with the expectation of a handshake. The Commander only responded with a cold stare.
President Nixon had read the full history of the United States up to the historical event the Uptimers called The Reformation. Given what he read he had expected the Uptimers to have a full hatred of the Democratic Party. What he found truly disturbing was their cold and clinical contempt for the Democrats instead of the emotional state of hatred.
Humphrey spoke.
“Do you understand courtesy?”
Commander Keller coldly responded.
“Where we come from the proper response to the presence of a Democrat is one round in the head in the old Soviet style.”
Both senators were shocked, their eyes widened.
Commander Keller pointed to the chairs as a command motion to sit.
The temperature in the cabinet room seemed to have dropped as the senators silently sat down.
Nixon had also read of the efforts of the political successors of the Democrats to prevent the construction of the sublight starships that would carry humans from the path of the oncoming neutron star that was expected to destroy Human Civilization in the Solar System.
As one of the Germans at Huntsville who also read the report had put it--those fools could have given Nietzsche several pointers on the philosophy of Nihilism.
Even so the clinical contempt of the Uptimers remained disturbing to the president.
President Nixon spoke.
“The subject of the discussion is the incident in Minneapolis yesterday.”
“Yes,” said Humphrey, “when will those murderers be brought to justice?”
Commander Keller calmly responded.
“Mister Humphrey, your police in Minneapolis chose to behave as predatory animals and were identified and dealt with as such. Justice has already been properly served.”
Humphrey face turned red as he raised his voice in response.
“THAT IS A LIE!”
Commander Keller said nothing in response. Instead she opened the laptop computer and positioned it so everyone at the table could see the screen and entered the command to play the audio-video file recorded by the lapel camera worn by Evelyn Boatman. Only after the file had completely played did she respond.
“As you can see the two officers in the initial incident failed to comply with the operational standards of a proper civil constabulary. Under the circumstances Mission Commander Boatman had no choice but to defend himself with deadly force.”
Both Director Hoover and General Wheeler nodded in agreement.
General Wheeler spoke up.
“Your cops were also ordered to stand down. Instead one of them shot Commander Boatman and the squad responded to that action in accordance to proper infantry doctrine.”
All of the television network news programs had shown newsreel footage of the Ranger squad, in their powered armor suits, engaging the Minneapolis Police on the ground. But the networks had consistently not shown the rifle shot that struck Boatman.
Humphrey spoke again.
“The Minneapolis police were slaughtered like animals! They didn’t know what they were up against!”
Director Hoover shook his head and replied.
“Senator, all the police departments in the Twin Cities area were notified of Commander Boatman’s visit to the area. The Saint Paul police informed their officers on duty of this. The Minneapolis police did not. So whose fault is this?”
Humphrey was struck silent, Kennedy now spoke up.
“So when will these monsters be disarmed?”
Commander Keller replied with a level voice.
“The citizens are the sovereign authority, those who seek to disarm them are traitors to the nation and should be put to death.”
Kennedy’s face turned red and he shouted in response.
“SHUT UP!”
President Nixon now interjected himself.
“Commander, I believe the senator is referring to your nuclear weapons.”
The planners of the Eagle expedition had no idea if anyone was still alive in the Solar System or how they would respond to a mission from Alpha Centauri. It was assumed that a hostile response was possible and that the expedition should be prepared for it. The Eagle at present carried more nuclear warheads than were in the arsenals of the United Kingdom, France, China, and Israel. Only the United States and Soviet Union outnumbered them in nuclear bombs and warheads.
“It simply won’t happen, sir.” She replied. “And Eagle is presently parked in geosynchronous orbit at about the longitude of Omaha, Nebraska. Our onboard laser batteries are presently providing coverage against a possible Soviet ballistic missile attack on the United States. If a hostile government were to come to power in the United States we would have withdraw our block against Soviet actions.”
What she left unsaid was that if a hostile president were elected it would be a very good idea to not be in Washington on Inauguration Day.
“You are the criminals!” Kennedy shouted.
Commander Keller slightly smiled, looked straight at Kennedy, and then she calmly spoke.
“Speaking of actual criminals, how is Mary Jo?”
Kennedy’s eyes widened. He shouted in response.
“HOW DARE YOU!”
Commander Keller’s eyes lit up as she spoke in response.
“Teddy, a proper government holds it’s elected officers to the highest reasonable standards, and the act of leaving a helpless young woman to slowly suffocate to death is something we treat as a capital crime.”
Well yes, the young woman in question was a Democrat, but a valid law must be applied to everyone without exception.
Kennedy quickly stood up and left the cabinet room.
President Nixon then spoke.
“Senator Humphrey, it appears that this meeting is over.”
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
This is related to my current literary project
On Thursday September 18, 1969, it was time for lunch.
There was a White Castle restaurant on the corner of 4th street and Central Avenue in Minneapolis. It was built at the north end of the parking lot of a strip mall and was one of the prefabricated units in while porcelain and stainless steel that were still in operation on this day. Roughly half an hour after the local noon two men stepped inside. The first was in his early sixties and wore an off the rack grey suit. The second appeared to no older than 14 years old. He wore a custom tailored navy blue suit in the Nehru pattern. The suit jacket was worn loose and unbuttoned with a round silver and glass pin at about the position of the left lapel.
In New York he had been criticized for apparent Third-world style of his choice of attire by a certain little old lady from Leningrad.
“Miss Rand,” he responded with a clearly adult tone of voice, “In spaceflight a necktie is a useless mass and it floats up into the face in free-fall conditions, and I will die before I put on a bow tie.”
The apparently young man also had a short haircut that was more comfortable than fashionable and carried himself as if he were far older.
The apparently younger man spoke to his older companion.
“Do you want anything, John?”
The older man replied with a trace of an educated German accent.
“No sir, go ahead.”
The young man stepped up to the counter and spoke.
“I’ll have four cheeseburgers with catsup and no pickle, fries and a coke please.”
“Yes sir.” The clerk replied.
In the memory of the apparently younger man it had been nearly two centuries since he came to Earth and discovered the White Castle hamburger. He had been born in the primary habitat of Ganymede and had come to Earth for his college education. After the synthetic food he grew up with even the basic slider was a joy to consume.
Even though it was theoretically impossible he and his companions had traveled backwards in time. No one on the crew and science staff aboard the Eagle had any idea how it happened. But now that Evelyn Boatman and his crew were back in 1969 they would have to live with it.
As they waited for the order to come up two Minneapolis Police officers wearing their standard uniform hats entered the restaurant. To John they reminded him of the Secret State Police of the Reich, what was commonly known in his native Germany as the Gestapo. To Boatman they brought forth memories of the stone age sentient reptilian natives of Eden, one of the two habitable planets of the Alpha Centauri system. Vermin who were nearly exterminated by the second wave of Human colonists.
Boatman consciously suppressed the urge to bring out the pistol concealed under his suit jacket.
The senior of the two cops spotted Boatman and spoke.
“Hey kid, why aren’t you in school?”
Boatman turned and calmly replied to the first cop with a clearly adult tone of voice.
“I am not a student.”
John felt it was time for him to speak up to the uniformed thugs.
“Gentlemen, we’re with NASA.”
The second cop turned towards John and growled.
“Shut up!”
The first cop didn’t understand what he saw. What he had identified as the mere teenage boy standing before him should have descended into a visible state of fear. Instead the boy had calmly assumed the position of adult authority.
And even though the boy had a military grade haircut he was still dressed in what the cop had identified as a hippy suit. That made the boy someone he could beat to a pulp without an adverse consequence.
The cop stepped forward and reached to grab the boy with his right hand. He only got off two words before there was a response.
“Listen punk...”
As the cop’s right hand touched the left side on his suit jacket Boatman brought his own right hand down on top of that of the cop. With his left hand he seized the cop’s elbow, spun right with the entire force of his body and pushed forward on the elbow. He could hear the elbow snap. Then with the right hand open he struck the cop with the palm up to the chin of the cop. Boatman could hear the neck of the cop snap.
Boatman then reached back under his jacket drew his pistol and aimed it at the head of the second cop.
The second cop didn’t recognize the weapon as a currently manufactured handgun. He sneered with full rage.
“Use a real gun, punk!”
Boatman pulled the trigger. There was no report of a gunpowder weapon. Only a crack of a projectile moving at slightly above the speed of sound combined with the impact of the projectile upon the head of the thug.
The weapon was manufactured on Zion, the second world colonized in the Alpha Centauri system. It used magnetic force to propel a bullet made of a 2 centimeter core of depleted uranium wrapped in a centimeter sheath of mild steel at slightly above the speed of sound.
The second cop dropped to the floor.
Evelyn Boatman looked up at his companion and spoke.
“Well, that was rude.”
Doctor Johannes Linden reverted to the language of his homeland.
“Ja.”
Boatman then looked over to the manager and staff of the White Castle.
“Sorry about the mess,” he said, “I guess we’ll have to skip lunch.”
He then turned back to his companion and spoke.
“Let’s go.”
As then walked back to the rented car Boatman spoke again.
“If I recall correctly there is a Federal building on Third Avenue in downtown, there should be a FBI office there.”
When Central Avenue crossed the Mississippi River it became Third Avenue South. They should find sanctuary from the local cops at the FBI office.
As John pulled the car out of the shopping center’s parking lot Boatman reached into a coat pocket and pulled out a device. He needed to make a call.
There was a White Castle restaurant on the corner of 4th street and Central Avenue in Minneapolis. It was built at the north end of the parking lot of a strip mall and was one of the prefabricated units in while porcelain and stainless steel that were still in operation on this day. Roughly half an hour after the local noon two men stepped inside. The first was in his early sixties and wore an off the rack grey suit. The second appeared to no older than 14 years old. He wore a custom tailored navy blue suit in the Nehru pattern. The suit jacket was worn loose and unbuttoned with a round silver and glass pin at about the position of the left lapel.
In New York he had been criticized for apparent Third-world style of his choice of attire by a certain little old lady from Leningrad.
“Miss Rand,” he responded with a clearly adult tone of voice, “In spaceflight a necktie is a useless mass and it floats up into the face in free-fall conditions, and I will die before I put on a bow tie.”
The apparently young man also had a short haircut that was more comfortable than fashionable and carried himself as if he were far older.
The apparently younger man spoke to his older companion.
“Do you want anything, John?”
The older man replied with a trace of an educated German accent.
“No sir, go ahead.”
The young man stepped up to the counter and spoke.
“I’ll have four cheeseburgers with catsup and no pickle, fries and a coke please.”
“Yes sir.” The clerk replied.
In the memory of the apparently younger man it had been nearly two centuries since he came to Earth and discovered the White Castle hamburger. He had been born in the primary habitat of Ganymede and had come to Earth for his college education. After the synthetic food he grew up with even the basic slider was a joy to consume.
Even though it was theoretically impossible he and his companions had traveled backwards in time. No one on the crew and science staff aboard the Eagle had any idea how it happened. But now that Evelyn Boatman and his crew were back in 1969 they would have to live with it.
As they waited for the order to come up two Minneapolis Police officers wearing their standard uniform hats entered the restaurant. To John they reminded him of the Secret State Police of the Reich, what was commonly known in his native Germany as the Gestapo. To Boatman they brought forth memories of the stone age sentient reptilian natives of Eden, one of the two habitable planets of the Alpha Centauri system. Vermin who were nearly exterminated by the second wave of Human colonists.
Boatman consciously suppressed the urge to bring out the pistol concealed under his suit jacket.
The senior of the two cops spotted Boatman and spoke.
“Hey kid, why aren’t you in school?”
Boatman turned and calmly replied to the first cop with a clearly adult tone of voice.
“I am not a student.”
John felt it was time for him to speak up to the uniformed thugs.
“Gentlemen, we’re with NASA.”
The second cop turned towards John and growled.
“Shut up!”
The first cop didn’t understand what he saw. What he had identified as the mere teenage boy standing before him should have descended into a visible state of fear. Instead the boy had calmly assumed the position of adult authority.
And even though the boy had a military grade haircut he was still dressed in what the cop had identified as a hippy suit. That made the boy someone he could beat to a pulp without an adverse consequence.
The cop stepped forward and reached to grab the boy with his right hand. He only got off two words before there was a response.
“Listen punk...”
As the cop’s right hand touched the left side on his suit jacket Boatman brought his own right hand down on top of that of the cop. With his left hand he seized the cop’s elbow, spun right with the entire force of his body and pushed forward on the elbow. He could hear the elbow snap. Then with the right hand open he struck the cop with the palm up to the chin of the cop. Boatman could hear the neck of the cop snap.
Boatman then reached back under his jacket drew his pistol and aimed it at the head of the second cop.
The second cop didn’t recognize the weapon as a currently manufactured handgun. He sneered with full rage.
“Use a real gun, punk!”
Boatman pulled the trigger. There was no report of a gunpowder weapon. Only a crack of a projectile moving at slightly above the speed of sound combined with the impact of the projectile upon the head of the thug.
The weapon was manufactured on Zion, the second world colonized in the Alpha Centauri system. It used magnetic force to propel a bullet made of a 2 centimeter core of depleted uranium wrapped in a centimeter sheath of mild steel at slightly above the speed of sound.
The second cop dropped to the floor.
Evelyn Boatman looked up at his companion and spoke.
“Well, that was rude.”
Doctor Johannes Linden reverted to the language of his homeland.
“Ja.”
Boatman then looked over to the manager and staff of the White Castle.
“Sorry about the mess,” he said, “I guess we’ll have to skip lunch.”
He then turned back to his companion and spoke.
“Let’s go.”
As then walked back to the rented car Boatman spoke again.
“If I recall correctly there is a Federal building on Third Avenue in downtown, there should be a FBI office there.”
When Central Avenue crossed the Mississippi River it became Third Avenue South. They should find sanctuary from the local cops at the FBI office.
As John pulled the car out of the shopping center’s parking lot Boatman reached into a coat pocket and pulled out a device. He needed to make a call.
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