AMERICA ONE - NextGen (Book 5) Read online

  From now on the astronauts would be taking time off in shifts. There was no hydrogen fuel yet on the base. The C-17 from the Sahara with the second Bradley and the supplies of hydrogen fuel aboard was arriving the next day with Doug in a second aircraft bringing in hydrogen fuel supplies. The occasion was the official handing over of the title of the 20,000 acre military base to Astermine Co., and the wedding of America One’s captain.

  “I see you are all in favor of Bob’s idea,” laughed Ryan, watching his crew’s excitement. “A regular shuttle service down to Earth every two years.” Because there were no Matts or Matt craft on base, Bob’s girls had been allowed to stay for the wedding. The two of them hadn’t seen anything to do with the Matts as yet, but had seen the blue shield around the craft as they landed.

  “I would be happy to offer myself and my ladies as the shuttle bus drivers every now and again,” replied Bob, smiling.

  “Bob Mathews, ladies, I’m sure you would enjoy coming to visit us. We will have to leave a few spacesuits, and get you in training before you can fly. It’s a long journey, and you will have a lot of time for all three of you to become astronauts. Unfortunately, once up there, you will know our secrets, and I’m sure that you respect us enough to not let them out to anybody else. Please, all of you think how angry these governments and countries might become in the near future if they realize that we have enough new technology to make them the most powerful countries on Earth. We must even keep our shield and weapon secrets away from our best friends, such as the Canadians, Libyans, Israelis and Australians. So if you Earthlings and others are allowed into our new home sometime in the future, you will have to take our secrets to your grave with you.”

  “Or we will set a mean former General Jones on you with his laser,” added Allen Saunders. “Surely, Ryan, the Cold Fusion systems could help Earth?”

  “I’m debating that exact topic with Igor,” smiled Ryan.

  Jonesy and the rest of the astronauts were glad to be back, even if the desert was so hot that it could melt metal. There was an even larger pool than in Nevada, the rooms were luxurious, the food excellent, and there were enough beers in large refrigerators to quench the thirst of several armies, not just them.

  Ryan knew what Doug and his government were trying to do, tempt him and his crew into staying, but that was not going to work. Not on the Australian continent anyway.

  “I don’t give an honest day’s pay to anything else than going fishing. Is my family runabout everybody else has been using fueled up?” Jonesy commented.

  They were all in the newly erected bar, an Australian place of communication and relaxation, Bob Mathews explained to Ryan. Why was the bar right in the middle of the base, as if protected by all the other buildings? Why was it so big like a town hall? Ryan needed to be explained the Australian way of life. These Aussies thought that the consumption of beer was rather important, maybe the most important beverage in the world, and Ryan thanked his lucky stars that Commander Joot and Elder Roo wouldn’t be arriving anytime soon.

  “Tomorrow, Mr. Jones, after the wedding,” shouted Bob, “we are expecting an air refueling transporter or two with many thousand pounds of good grade jet fuel for your little vehicle. It seemed that they thought the cold beers, a whole C-130 of them, were far more important for the ceremony, and it seems that we tied up their air tankers keeping us fueled in Africa. The supply tanks and pumps here on base were completed a day or so before we arrived.”

  “Well, you can depend on the Aussies for good beer,” replied a rather intoxicated Jonesy. “It is so hot that I reckon I could drink that whole cargo tonight. They should have left the C-130 as well. We could have brought back the fish I’m going to catch.”

  “All balloons of hot air, and not a brain cell between them,” joked Allen at Jonesy’s boasting.

  “You want to step outside, General? I’m sure there hasn’t been a fistfight between two generals in the United States Air Force, ever. We could be the first.”

  “Not much media around here to make your fight famous,” said Jamie Saunders.

  “I wouldn’t even bother watching,” added Dr. Nancy.

  “Me neither,” added Jonesy’s father.

  “John Jones, I suggest you try not to empty that airplane of beer tonight,” added his mother, enjoying her second. It was nice to be back on Earth again.

  Mars Noble, Saturn Jones and the two Richmond girls were together again. They had missed each other and were playing pool on the bar’s only table.

  “Well, I think Bob’s plan has merit. With the shields, it won’t be a fuel problem to return to Earth every two years. I might even return myself a few times as fishing with Mr. Jones and Mr. Noble is fun, and we could keep secret eyes on the goings-on here on Earth. Let’s take a vote, Martians only. Who wants the opportunity to vacation here on Earth?”

  Every one of his crewmembers put their hands up, even Captain Pete.

  “I think a spot of fishing in my retiring years could become a hobby,” said Captain Pete, smiling and looking at his wife-to-be. “I think many of us realized that we might never see this planet again and had got used to the fact. I think Jonesy has started something here. Nothing beats a cold beer, a hot day with dry air, the smell of the sea, and freshly caught Mahi-Mahi on your plate for dinner, my favorite. I’m game.”

  It seemed that they weren’t leaving Earth after all. Even Kathy Richmond had put up her hand. Even the four youngsters, two his own daughters, came up to him and told him that it was a good idea, whatever fishing was. The new generation was still unfamiliar with some of the old habits of living on Earth.

  “So, let us say we have a crew of 200 on Mars one day,” said Ryan to his crew listening. “In one of our crew compartments, twelve members plus two pilots in the cockpit will have enough room: about the same room as inside a miniature submarine to ride back here once every two years. That means it will take two decades to allow the whole crew to return.”

  “Use the second crew compartment in the same flight,” suggested Allen Saunders.

  “Allow both SB-III and SB-II to return,” added Jonesy, popping an Australian New Powers Lager. “I’ll be happy to be bus driver with Maggie, and I’m the one with the transport out of this sauna. What’s it called again?”

  “The Gibson Desert,” said Bob.

  “Why not redesign and fit the ship’s emergency supply cylinder below the shuttle as well as use the two crew compartments,” added Kathy Richmond. “Outfit it for both accommodations and supplies, and the shield will protect it during reentry. Half the fuel of two shuttles with even more room for passengers.”

  Both Ryan and Igor were surprised at what their think-tank group, now well-oiled, could think up.

  Kathy Richmond’s idea was best, and because the supply cylinder doubled the roominess of two crew compartments, up to 50 people could return in reasonable comfort. The party got rowdy that night, as there wasn’t any flying the next day. The wedding was in the morning, the fuel tankers were only due in late in the afternoon, and the visitors were expecting to stay the next night.

  The next day was a day of festivities. Captain Pete and Dr. Nancy were married in the early morning, outside in the warming sun. Ryan as acting ship’s captain married them. There weren’t many gifts available to be purchased, and they received many IOUs. Jonesy gave them a six-pack each. They sang and congratulated the pair, who quickly disappeared for the rest of the day.

  The others, still sober as only one round of beer was agreed upon by all to celebrate, checked out the surrounding desert, their new runway and buildings and got used to walking around upside down compared to walking on the Nevada desert.

  There were no Australian personnel at all on the base. Ryan had wanted it that way, as he wanted privacy for their short stay. It was two hours before dark before the first aircraft could be seen on radar in their reconstructed Desert Control Center. This center in the old control tower had the most modern radar equipment from the Royal Austral
ian Air Force, which gave them eyes for 200 miles in all directions. VIN in America One gave them eyes over the rest of the world.

  Ryan had contacted VIN before they had even landed on the new base, from the C-5, and had asked him to contact some of their old crew still in Nevada. VIN had got ahold of Sergeant Meyers living on the shores of Lake Tahoe, and Meyers had told VIN that he could round up some of the cooks, cleaners and a few of the security guards still in the area. Meyers was ordered to charter a long-range jet and come visit Australia for a few weeks.

  The sergeant called him late that afternoon, through VIN, telling Ryan that the word had gone out like wildfire. Eighteen of the original base employees and ten of the guards wanted to come and visit. The sergeant had arranged two private jets out of California, both of which had refueled in Honolulu several hours earlier and were currently two hours out from Australian soil.

  Meyers also had a message which shocked Ryan. He had a letter from the U.S. President to hand to his daughter, wherever she was, in return for safe passage of the two aircraft out of the country. The word had really gone far, and Ryan wondered who would have given out the information all the way to Washington, not that it really mattered anymore. All his secrets were already up in space. The only answer was that the communications between VIN and Sergeant Meyers had not been private.

  The owners of the two corporate jets were the pilots, and Meyers had told them that Ryan’s credit was still good. Since they had been used by Ryan before, they were happy to oblige.

  An hour after Ryan received the message from VIN, a corporate jet, then the first Royal Australian Air Force C-130, came in to land, then a second, and then two Airbus A330 refueling tankers landed.

  “Great to see you on Australian soil. I’m glad you took us up on your offer, Ryan,” Doug said as he was welcomed off the small jet by Ryan and Kathy, Igor, Bob Mathews and Allen Saunders.

  “I’m already enjoying your hospitality, Doug,” Ryan replied. “I need entry authorization for two incoming jets from Hawaii. A few of my staff from Nevada: cooks, security guards, you know?”

  “Yes, our Air Force HQ has already spoken to a Lieutenant Noble, somewhere up there,” Doug said, pointing to the heavens. “The two jets are already on a flight plan for this base, and they will be met by a couple of our boys on the coast, to be welcomed and escorted here.”

  For the rest of that night the airfield became busy. Two underground fuel tanks were filled by one tanker, while the other refueled the Dead Chicken. One C-130 offloaded 500 pound tanks of liquid hydrogen, while the second Hercules was emptied of frozen and fresh supplies.

  An hour after the last aircraft arrived, the C-17 from Africa asked for landing clearance. Two hours later, the two jets from Hawaii came in, and the base became busy. As there would be aircraft leaving over the next four or five hours, the Air Force astronauts cooked a fine meal for the personnel on the ground. It would be too noisy to try and sleep.

  As the desert cooled, the porch outside the bar filled with chatter and laughter well into the night. Only Jonesy wasn’t there. He had taxied his aircraft to one of the Airbuses for refueling just before the two jets from the U.S. got in the queue. Jonesy was checking out the controls for the next day’s 4,500-mile fishing flight into Victoria, the capital of the Seychelles. There were only a couple of things more important in Jonesy’s life than beer, and those were fishing and flying in that order.

  Now that the Jones family was all together again, it was time to enjoy the last few weeks on Earth. Allen and Jamie Saunders were heading back up in 36 hours with Captain Pete, Dr. Nancy, and two tons of frozen fish, offloaded from one of the C-130s. Doug could only stay 24 hours, and he and Ryan needed to talk. That they did over a private breakfast the next morning.

  “I appreciate your paying for the goods we have provided up to now,” said Doug over scrambled eggs and bacon. “Australia is not as wealthy a country as we were a decade ago, when you guys left. The lack of international trade has hurt us tremendously, but it has also strengthened our self-sufficiency and bonded us as a nation far more than ever before. We now trade mostly with New Zealand, the Pacific Islands and Indonesia. Thanks to Indonesia, you have wonderful coffee, something I’ve been told you can’t do without. Until the cubes return when you guys leave, we are trading with the Middle East again with our largest ships in both directions, so please don’t leave too quickly. We hope you stay for a month, as that will allow 3,000 ships to safely travel in either direction. We have so much to offer the Middle East and vice versa. You being here will give us an extra $2 trillion in trade. It would be so nice if the Big Bad Three would allow international trade again, but we don’t envisage any freedom for a long while yet. Unless you can do something about it?”

  “What could I do?” Ryan asked. “I have hit their launch sites over 10,000 times, and still believe they have dozens more.”

  “I don’t know what you could do except meet with the leaders of each country. They won’t listen to me, or anybody out there in the rest of the world. It is like a stalemate down here,” replied Doug sadly.

  “I will try and speak, or even meet, with the leaders of those countries. I have already been asked to contact the U.S. President,” Ryan continued.

  “I’m sure it is regarding the disappearance of his only daughter,” Doug said.

  “Correct, and I will be patched into Washington in a couple of hours’ time.”

  “I’m sure you can imagine how difficult world communications are without the old communications satellites, the internet, even cell phones,” continued Doug. “Now it is only the old sea cables that give us an opportunity to reach outside our borders, and we think the Chinese are cutting these lines with their fleet of submarines. It seems that if they can’t rule the world of trade, then they are not going to allow any world trade.”

  “You have been in contact with Chinese submarines?” Ryan asked.

  “Yes, many times,” returned Doug quickly. “About three years ago, every time one of our small 1,000-ton freighters left one of our northern ports for Indonesia or our eastern ports for Auckland, it sank within 20 miles of our harbors. This size of vessel cannot be often seen from the cubes in space. When the cubes did see the movement of a larger vessel, they attacked. With the cubes, and apart from having fighters in the area, there was nothing we could do. Our fighters could easily become the targets. We moved our six naval submarines into our busiest trading channels. Even though our submarine fleet was never as modern as the British or American submarines, we were certainly better than the Chinese Navy. They had smaller, less sophisticated vessels, and we destroyed eighteen of their subs before our ships began to get through again. It took a year, but we finally reduced their attacks to only one or two a month.”

  “Must have hurt your shipping fleet,” Ryan said.

  “You’re right there, mate. To the tune of 395 vessels sunk in twelve months, more than one a day. We lost one of our subs, and that led us, as your friend the former U.S. President said, to a worldwide shipbuilding boom. We certainly set ourselves up to produce our share. Few countries in the world have what we have: large amounts of raw materials and ground metals to produce what we needed. In the last three years, we have built over 900, smaller one- to three-thousand ton freighters and three new submarines, specially built as Chinese submarine hunters. We have another three submarines about to be launched, and are keeping up with the new attackers arriving from China. We still lose about two to three ships a month, but destroy four or five of their submarines. Your arrival has caused a lull in the attacks from space, so we brought all our large vessels out of mothballs, 366 container ships and bulk carriers, and are plowing the seas in all directions with the loss of only three ships in the last month so far. Your return caught the Chinese submarine builders and one or two Russian submarines off guard. We think that the Russian and Chinese production sites have been turned toward cube manufacture, for when you leave.”

  “Russian submarines?” as
ked Ryan.

  “Only in the last few months have we believed that we have the Russians in our waters.”

  “And the United States?” Ryan asked.

  “Everybody, and I mean everybody, who owns submarines is fighting in the waters around the U.S., Canada and Europe. We get the odd bulletin every now and again, and it seems that those nations cannot build new submarines fast enough, due to the numbers destroyed. We are lucky that we reside so far away from the rest of the world. If you could negotiate a truce among all nations and get international trade back to what it was in 2015 or 2016, then this whole planet would flourish again, just like spring.”

  Ryan thought about Doug’s words and said that once he arrived back into space, he would try and set up some sort of meeting with the Big Bad Three.

  “So how can we repay you for future possibilities on our behalf?” Doug asked, sipping a cup of excellent Indonesian coffee.

  “Bob Mathews came up with an idea,” Ryan began. “His idea is for Astermine Co. and its crew to have a permanent base down here on Earth for future visits.”

  “This base is your base if you want it,” Doug replied.

  “Thank you, and I appreciate your offer, but Bob’s idea was an island off your coast. Private, a sanctuary you would protect which hopefully wouldn’t have spies or soldiers walking over it all the time.”

  “The Whitsunday Islands are in the middle of our shipping lanes, and I’m sure we could come up with a deserted island for you. How big do you want it to be?”

  “About 20 to 50 acres, pretty flat, and I would pay for the island and for you to build a base on it, like you so kindly built here in the middle of the desert for us.”

  “Well, there is Border Island, ten acres but hilly. Hogan Island, between us and Tasmania. We have dozens that could suit you. That would have been perfect, but I’ll get my guys out looking. We would not need payment, but will protect your sanctuary in return for you protecting us from space.”